


Suspicious Minds

by HaleHole (SweetFanfics)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, Alternate Universe, Drama & Romance, Full Shift Werewolves, M/M, Minor Allison Argent/Scott McCall, POV Alternating, Past Stiles Stilinski/Original Character(s), Single Parent Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Finds Out About Werewolves, Wolf Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-09 00:50:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 40,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4327572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetFanfics/pseuds/HaleHole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Don’t feed Balto your pizza,” Stiles mildly warns his daughter.</p><p>“Derek.”</p><p>Stiles pauses, mouth open and cheese sliding off the pizza as he parrots, “Derek? Who’s Derek?”</p><p>His daughter rolls her eyes, like Stiles has just asked her the dumbest question ever. “The wolf, Daddy!”</p><p>“You changed his name?” Stiles asks in surprise. Usually she’s pretty set about naming things. Her doll’s name was decided two seconds after receiving it, the car has been Alonzo for three years now, and the toaster ‘Pop’ for the last six months.</p><p>Meg nods, prodding the sliding cheese back on top of her slice. “Yeah. He told me his name is Derek. And that he doesn’t really like Balto.”</p><p>“Is that right?” he asks, eyeing the wolf who seems <i>far</i> too interested in watching a pair of animated moose arguing. It’s official. This wolf is <i>weird</i>. This whole situation is weird. </p><p>--<br/>Separated from Laura after being cornered by some hunters, an injured Derek finds himself being rescued by Stiles and his young daughter. In more than one way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suspicious Minds

**Author's Note:**

> As the old saying goes, it's been 84 years...
> 
> This commission is so _beyond_ overdue it isn't even funny BUT HERE IT IS. For the ever so lovely Anna who bid on me during the Sterek Commission auction. I'm so beyond utterly completely sorry for how late I am over this. But hey its 40k so I hope you like it and forgive me? _(:"3
> 
> So, SO many thanks to my ever so wonderful beta, Lauren. You're a gem, a rock star, and the wind beneath my wings. You're a freaking _angel_.
> 
> Also, my heartfelt thanks to all the people who kept encouraging me to write and work on this story even when I had little to no motivation for it. I couldn't have done this without your faith and belief in me.
> 
> Without further ado, let's get this 'roughly inspired by Lilo & Stitch' AU started!

Laura’s white knuckled grip yanks him down, pulling the air out of his lungs. The bullets slam into the tree behind him, taking off several inches from the side. Fuck, Derek thinks as he stares at the exposed wood, that was too close for comfort.

 

“We need to make a run for it.” Laura pants, pulling Derek along with her as they dodge arrows and bullets. “ _Derek_. We need to make a run for it.”

 

If they weren’t in real and present danger, Derek would snark that that is _exactly_ what they’ve been doing for _years_. It’s the downside of being a pack of two--the running part. But instead he holds his tongue and nods. This is no time to sass back to his alpha.

 

His sister shoots a look behind him. Whatever she sees causes her to twist her face into an ugly, complicated expression. It’s dread, resignation, anger all rolled together. Derek tries to look behind him when Laura pulls him forward hard enough to throw him off balance. “Shift and go,” she barks at him, hands working furiously to take her jacket and shirt off. “ _Go_!”

 

Derek obediently strips. But a split second before he changes into his wolf form, he asks, “Laura, what are you-?”

 

Her hands might be smaller than his, but they’re warmer, filled with gentle strength as she grabs his face. Her eyes are hard and determined when she tells him, “We’re going to run. As hard and as fast as we can. Head for Beacon Hills. I _will_ find you there.” Her eyes and tone are resolute, filling Derek with hope. “Okay?”

 

He wants to argue with her about her plan. It’s too dangerous. It’s reckless. What if one of them gets captured by the hunters? How will the other know? What if--

 

An arrow glances off the tree next to Laura, causing them both shift and dash away in opposite directions. Soft earth gives way under his paws, leaves and twigs crunching as he runs in the direction where he can’t smell wolfsbane and mountain ash. Fleetingly, he’s grateful the hunters came across them after nightfall. Their fur is black as ink, providing them the cover they need to run away through the shadows.

 

Derek runs until his lungs burn, mouth dries, and muscles ache. But fear and paranoia keep him running long after he stops hearing gunshots and yelling. The sound of his racing heart is like the beating of a war drum as Derek jumps over gnarled roots, shoves his way through thick bushes, and weaves through the trees until suddenly, he’s in the middle of an empty road.

 

Panting, the werewolf stares down at the thick line under his paws before turning his head one way then the other. There’s no signs. No traffic to speak of either. Derek lifts his head, sniffing the cold night air before moving over to the other side of the road. It would be incredibly ironic, Derek thinks as he glances at both sides of the road, to die by getting hit by a car after he’s successfully managed to avoid the hunters.

 

Smelling nothing but the forest behind him and the corn field before him, Derek considers his options. He can’t go back, so he has three options now: left, right, or straight through the corn field. If he goes straight, there’s a chance to find a farmhouse or a barn to hide in. But there is the very real risk of being shot. No farmer is going see him and think ‘lost dog.’ They’d think ‘wolf’ and try to shoot him off their property.

 

So. Left or right? Derek stares at both directions long and hard before turning his face right. It’s as good a choice as any. He should hit a road sign soon enough to direct him toward Beacon Hills. Trotting down the side of the road, it doesn’t take long for Derek to get bored out of his skull. He shakes himself, trying to shake off the sleepiness induced by the monotonous scenery, forcing himself to pay attention in case any hunters show up.

 

An owl hoots curiously at him from above, several mice pause mid-scurry to eye him before tearing away into the field. A soft breeze makes leaves brush against each other in dry whispers. Eventually, Derek hears a car. No, he freezes. It’s a bigger vehicle. Coming fast from behind him.

Derek halts, heart pounding in fear as he wonders if the hunters have caught up to him.

 

Without thinking about it, Derek dashes across the double road. If the hunters are on four wheels, then he’ll take his chance in the forest again.

 

There’s a flash of light, a blaring horn, screeching tires, and a sharp flash of pain before the deep blue night goes black.

 

\----

 

“Daddy! We gotta help him!”

 

Stiles nods distractedly at his daughter’s yells, already ahead of her. “Stay in the car, okay, honey? I’m going to go see if it’s alright.” He pulls his seatbelt off, feet already scrambling out of the tiny car. He can’t _believe_ the truck driver. Hitting an animal and driving away without stopping to check on the poor thing.

 

The dog is lying on the side of the road, legs splayed out and twitching softly. Stiles raises his arm up to his nose when he smells the blood. “Jesus.” He coughs, forcing the bile back down into his throat. Of all the things to be witness to. And today had gone so well. Stiles sighs to himself, his steps careful and slow when he comes within an arm’s reach of the dog.

 

It’s all black, which could explain why the trucker didn’t see it until it was too late. And it’s…it’s alive. The dog is alive and whining pitifully at him. “You are one lucky son of a bitch,” Stiles says, pulling his hoodie off.  “Now don’t bite me or anything, okay? I’m just trying to help you…” Jeez, but it is a big dog. What kind of breed is it?

 

“Damn,” Stiles chuckles softly. “You’re big enough to be a wolf.”

 

The dog’s tongue lolls out of his mouth, shining with spit and blood as it pants and whines some more. Crap. Right. After a few moments of deliberation, Stiles carefully wraps the dog up in his hoodie--he hopes it won’t smell like dog after a good wash or three--and begins to walk back to the car.

 

He apologizes to the dog with every step, cringing at the pained noises the hurt creature continues to make. “Sweetie, open the back door,” Stiles calls out to his daughter, hurrying when the dog begins to growl. The low, consistent rumbling against his body and hands is honestly freaking him out. He makes out Meg wriggling out of her booster seat, leaning over to throw the door open for her father.

 

“Please don’t bite my face off, please don’t bite my face off,” Stiles pleads with the creature, jogging over to the open door.

 

Megan stays behind the door, standing up on tip toes, peering through the window as Stiles lays the dog down on the back seat. At least his daughter had the foresight to clean the seat up before he arrived. Too bad her idea of ‘cleaning up’ was sweeping everything onto the floor. Oh well.

 

“Good job, kiddo,” Stiles praises, stepping back so that she can close the door. The five-year-old carefully slams the door shut before standing next to him. Stiles pats her head distractedly, pausing when he realizes he just put the wolf in the back seat, right next to Meg’s booster seat. A few curses bubble up, but Stiles holds them back.

 

With a tired sigh, Stiles tells his daughter to wait for him to pull her chair into the front seat. Between being fined for having her in the front or in the back with a wild animal, Stiles will pick the fine. He has the seat in place and Meg buckled into it within a few minutes.

 

“Is he okay?” she asks, head turned back to look at the dog. Her brow is furrowed in a concerned look, body tense and ready in a way that makes Stiles think she’s going to jump out of her seat and go back to make sure the dog is alright.

 

When he looks over at the dog, it’s lying still. Its pained whines have given way to labored breathing. It doesn’t sound good to Stiles’ untrained ear. Stiles truthfully answers, “Dunno. Let’s get him to the vet and find out. Uncle Isaac will know what to do.”

 

\----

 

The first thing Derek realizes when he wakes up is how much he hurts. His entire left side throbs with a bone deep ache that rises and falls with his heartbeat. The second thing that hits him immediately afterward is how bright it is. Far too bright for it to be day. Unless he had been knocked out for the night…

 

Cracking a heavy eye open, Derek finds himself staring at the backs of two humans. Through the space between their bodies, he can make out what they’re looking at--an x-ray placed against a white light board.

 

“--lucky. My best guess is he just got clipped by the truck, got a bad skin wound, and passed out because of the shock,” says the curly haired man.

 

The man standing next to him glances back at Derek, expression going from weary relief to obvious delight. “Hey! He’s up!”

 

His first instinct is to get up to his feet and snarl at these strangers. Who knows if they can be trusted or not. Furthermore, Derek can’t _stand_ the smell of the place. It smells like wet dogs, medicines, and sickness. It makes his stomach turn.

 

But his attempts to get on his feet fail completely. His front paws slide against the slick metal, numb hind legs sticking to the table. Derek growls at his body, willing it to _move_. They drugged him after all.

 

The curly haired man rushes forward immediately, voice soothing but firm, “Hey, no. No. Lie back down. We don’t want you pulling your stitches.”

 

Stitches? Derek gives his head a firm shake, trying to push away the last vestiges of the fog clinging to his mind before turning around to eye his hindquarters. The sharp stinging smell of chemicals and medicine make him sniff at his left leg, snorting disdainfully at the job done. He didn’t need stitches. A couple of hours and he would have been fine. Just his luck that a human had seen him get hurt and brought him to an animal clinic.

 

He tries to lick the wound, but firm hands stop him before he can even start. “Stiles, get the cone.”

 

What? Oh no. No way in _hell_ were they going to put that damned thing on him! He tries his best to wriggle out of the vet’s hold, but the man is stronger than he appears. A brief, useless struggle later, Derek finds himself wearing a white cone of shame, preventing him from licking himself.

 

The man who’s brought him to the vet snorts at him, grinning when he says, “For a dog, he’s got one hell of a bitch face.”

 

The vet sighs tiredly, like he’s well used to the man’s humor and doesn’t find it as funny. Derek growls threateningly at the man and sits back smugly when the human jumps away from him.

 

“Daddy,” a voice pipes up from somewhere behind him. “You know you’re not supposed to use bad words in front of me.”

 

Derek looks at the door, staring at the dark haired girl who is frowning heavily at the bespectacled man while cradling a giant white cat against her small chest. Her voice is high and girlish, but loaded with disapproval as she continues, “Gran’pa said so.”

 

“Sh-shoot,” the man corrects himself immediately, making the vet snicker under his breath.  “Sorry about that, Meg.”

 

Seemingly satisfied with her father’s apology, Meg turns toward the vet with a softer, pensive expression on her face. “Uncle Isaac, can we take the dog home now?”

 

“Sweetie,” the father butts in quickly, stepping forward to kneel in front of the girl with his back to Derek. Derek watches the girl as the man (what was his name again? Stiles, right?) gently explains that they can’t keep Derek. “He might be someone’s dog.”

 

Meg’s lips turn down into a stubborn pout. “Then what was he doing out in the middle of the road? At night!”

 

“Maybe he ran away,” Stiles offers.

 

“Actually,” Isaac butts in, “He didn’t have a collar on him. Or a chip. I’m pretty sure he’s a runaway.” He pauses here, glancing over at Derek before saying in a far more hesitant voice, “And I’m pretty sure he’s a wolf. Or half-wolf.”

 

Derek tilts his head at the man, tempted to show his teeth off just because he can. Stiles turns to look at him suspiciously from over his shoulder before looking over at Isaac. “There hasn’t been a wolf sighting in California for almost seventy years!”

 

“Who’s the vet here?” Isaac grumbles, approaching Derek cautiously.

 

Stiles snorts but quickly looks away when Isaac glares at him. For his part, Derek watches the vet carefully. He sniffs the air furtively, relieved beyond words when he doesn’t catch even the slightest hint of wolfsbane or gunpowder from the vet. Just another human then. Good.

 

Relaxing, Derek allows Isaac to run his hand down his spine before turning his head to try and sniff the vet’s fingers. He gets a good scratch behind the ear for that, much to Derek’s pleasure. Wagging his tail happily, Derek leans half an ear toward the parent-child conversation going on.

 

“If he doesn’t belong to anyone, why can’t we take him home?”

 

“He’s probably not used to living with people. And he could be part wolf. He might be feral.”

 

“He let Uncle Isaac pet him just now! He’s an orphan an’... an’ I like him!”

 

Seeing Stiles struggle in the face of his daughters’ pout is actually kind of cute. Anyone can tell how much his daughter means to the man, and her unhappy face is clearly causing Stiles a great deal of pain.

 

“How about this?” Isaac suggests, hands continuing to pet Derek’s uninjured flank. “You guys could keep him temporarily until I find out where he came from. Or till I find a place for him to stay. The way he’s behaving tells me that he was probably someone’s pet. Maybe we can find who he was staying with. Deaton knows a few people who might be able to help.”

 

Derek can see Stiles cracking. “How long would it take?”

 

The vet hums, “A couple of weeks. Deaton’s out of town visiting his sister. You won’t have to take care of him too long. I’ll help you out with the food and stuff.”

 

Megan beams at her dad, who ducks his head with a resigned sigh before the girl is pawning the cat off to her dad and bouncing over to Derek. Her shoes squeak against the floor as she halts in front of him, dark eyes gleaming as she meets his gaze.

 

“You’re gonna need a name,” she tells Derek firmly. This is made adorable by the way she holds her hand out toward him, palm out and eyes trusting. The small hand is steady when he sniffs at her fingertips. Her heart is racing though. But not out of fear. She smells nothing but excited.

 

Deciding he likes her, Derek gives her small hand a friendly snuffle and a lick before wagging his tail lightly. He pushes his head under her hand that for that he gets a good ear scratch.

 

“Guess we’re keeping him.” Stiles sighs tiredly. “Isaac, tell me how I’m gonna take care of him and what I’m gonna need. I hope hope he’s toilet trained...”

 

\---- 

 

Stiles feels as if he’s been sighing all night. Just exhaling louder and longer every time as the universe cheerfully decides that his long day isn’t done yet. He sighs _once again_ as his laptop bag slides down his arm, jerking his arm down hard enough to make the pizza box in his hands wobble. Thankfully, it doesn’t fall. A minor blessing.

 

He watches his daughter lead their new ‘pet’ through the two story home. Balto, as Meg has tentatively dubbed the creature, is following Meg into the kitchen as she tells him about her magnet collection.

 

The house is tiny compared to some of the other houses on their street, but it’s more than enough room for their little family. Meg’s got her own room, there’s the master bedroom, the guest room turned into a storage room, living room, dining room, kitchen and a cosy little study where Stiles works.

 

After he’s locked the front door, Stiles pulls his laptop bag back up on his shoulder and heads for the kitchen to drop the pizza off. Before he heads for the study, Stiles takes a moment to observe Meg and Balto, who have moved onto the living room. He stands in the doorway, watching Meg as she shows Balto her DVD collection.

 

She’s solemnly showing off her Balto DVD, explaining why she’s given the wolf the same name. The dark wolf calmly sits on his haunches, listening attentively to Meg as she tells him the movie plot.  Stiles watches as Balto gives the DVD a long stare before glancing up at Meg’s eager face, who is holding the thin box towards him. Stiles is vaguely impressed when the dog almost sighs and sniffs the plastic box before sneezing softly.

 

Now, Stiles doesn’t know a lot about wolves (because Isaac had reassured him that Balto was _at least_ part wolf), but he _does_ know they’re fairly intelligent creatures. But Balto is taking the cake. It looks like he’s actually understanding Meg’s babbling. After another minute of observing the pair, Stiles moves away saying, “Go wash up, honey. Dinner in five, okay?”

 

“‘Kay! C’mon Balto, I’ll show you my bathroom. It’s got stars painted on the wall.”

 

As he pulls his keys out, Stiles sees Meg jog out of the living room and up the stairs. Balto is right behind her, looking comical as hell with the white cone around his head. Stiles snickers as he tries to open the study door, giving the handle a tiny jiggle and shove to get it open. “Gets stuck every damn time,” he mutters under his breath, glaring slightly at the door before dropping his laptop bag on top of the mess of papers covering his desk.

 

As he throws himself down in his seat, Stiles sighs to himself. If nothing else, the next few days are going to be _very_ interesting. Ugh. He can’t believe he’s such a sucker for his kid’s puppy dog eyes. As the laptop boots up, Stiles wanders out to check the answering machine. Other than a message from his dad telling him he’ll take some time off to attend the play Meg’s in, there’s no other important messages. Least of all, a reply from Meg’s mom.

 

He’s been expecting Jenna to call for more than a week now, to finally tell Stiles if she can attend Meg’s play or not. And if it would be possible for Meg to spend the summer with her in San Francisco. Never let anyone say that Stiles is keeping his daughter away from her mom, because he’s giving Jenna all the chances in the world. It’s just that Jenna doesn’t seem to care, apparently.

 

“Fuck,” Stiles sighs, running a hand through his hair. He’s going to hate having to explain this to Meg. Hopefully she hasn’t already gotten her hopes up. He’ll have to think of a good enough excuse for Jenna’s absence now. He’ll also have to leave his ex-wife another message.

 

Stiles continues to think about this as he walks to the kitchen and pulls out plates and glasses, pouring water for himself and milk for Meg before belatedly remembering Balto. “Fuck,” he sighs again, remembering the big pile of ‘bare essentials’ Isaac  has given him. Which are all in the car. Outside. Dammit.

 

After another trip later, Balto’s crap is in an untidy pile beside the front door--that Stiles will attend to as soon as he’d had something to eat--and the little family is sitting together in front of the TV. Stiles pays more attention to Meg, making sure she eats the pizza herself instead of sneaking bites to the wolf. Balto is lying on the floor next to his daughter, paws neatly crossed in front of him as he watches Brother Bear. At least he’s well behaved, Stiles sighs in relief. That’s a huge plus even if it’s kind of strange to see an animal act so intelligently.

 

Stiles chews on his bite, thinking back to how easily Balto has been their instructions. Or Meg’s actually. Balto clearly thinks the world of Meg, listening to her every word so attentively. Meanwhile, Stiles seems to be at the same level as an annoying bug. Case in point: when he’d sternly told Balto to stay off the couch, he’d had given Stiles the strangest, most unamused look Stiles had ever seen on any canine.

 

“Don’t feed Balto your pizza,” Stiles mildly warns his daughter.

 

“Derek.”

 

Stiles pauses, mouth open and cheese sliding off the pizza as he parrots, “Derek? Who’s Derek?”

 

His daughter rolls her eyes, like Stiles has just asked her the dumbest question ever. “The wolf, Daddy!”

 

“You changed his name?” Stiles asks in surprise. Usually she’s pretty set about naming things. Her doll’s name was decided two seconds after receiving it, the car has been Alonzo for three years now, and the toaster ‘Pop’ for the last six months.

 

Meg nods, prodding the sliding cheese back on top of her slice. “Yeah. He told me his name is Derek. And that he doesn’t really like Balto.”

 

“Is that right?” he asks, eyeing the wolf who seems _far_ too interested in watching a pair of animated moose arguing. It’s official. This wolf is _weird_. This whole situation is _weird._

 

Sighing gustily, Stiles takes a moody bite of his pizza and wonders how much damage Derek is gonna do.

 

\----

 

Derek watches Meg from his spot in the corner, nose under the pile of old, thin but pleasant smelling blankets that Stiles has declared to be Derek’s ‘bed.’ He even used air quotes for emphasis. At least the man knew how much he was stretching the term. Not that it mattered. Derek could easily have slept on the floor, but it’s nice of the man to offer some level of comfort to him. Speaking of…

 

He raises his head when he hears Stiles pause outside Meg’s door. Derek stares at the door, watching Stiles open it and poke his head in to check on his daughter. He’s tempted to twitch his eyes down at the pile of blocks nearby, the ones he’d used to spell his name out to the girl when they’d come upstairs. His name is still spelled out too. If Stiles sees them, then there’s a good chance he’ll figure out Derek isn’t an ordinary wolf.

 

Derek isn’t sure _how,_ but somehow he stops himself from eying the blocks. He keeps his eyes focused on Stiles. The man tip-toes into the room, sweeping the blocks out of his path with a careful, unseeing sweep of his foot before pressing a kiss to Meg’s forehead and sneaking back out with a quiet, “Night, Derek,” like he expects Derek to reply back. He leaves the door open less than an inch. Probably for Derek’s sake.

 

Derek lowers his head onto his paws and closes his eyes, listening to the man walk downstairs. He decides that Stiles is an odd one. Odd but human--one who isn’t aware of supernatural shenanigans which makes Stiles’ home a perfect hiding place for Derek. So long as Derek keeps his head down, he’s confident no harm will come to him, _or_ the family. Now if only they’d get this stupid cone off his head and his situation would be almost perfect (all things considered).

 

He winds up sleeping through most of the night, waking up a few times for no reason he can identify before falling back to sleep. The next time he wakes up, Stiles is hefting a sleepy Megan out of her bed and padding out the room. Derek leaves them to their little routines, opting to stretch his legs and amble downstairs to the kitchen for water and breakfast.

 

Both bowls are filled, one with cool water and the other with some dried food crap Isaac had said should be supplemented with fresh meat. Which isn’t there. Derek eyes the dry food distastefully, looking between the fridge, the stairs, and the bowl as he contemplates his choices. There’s no way he can shift to human, whip up something to eat, and turn back before the father-daughter pair come back down. Ultimately, he sighs and tries to eat the biscuits. Grudgingly, he gives thanks that it’s dry food and not wet.

 

He’s working his way through his third mouthful, sourly-amused that dog biscuits taste similar to prawn crackers, when Stiles and Meg come downstairs, dressed for the day. Meg’s talking a mile a minute about the picture she’s drawn for some assignment while Stiles leads the way to the kitchen.

 

The girl continues to chatter as she sits in her chair, accepting the cereal box and milk bottle Stiles hands her. Stiles nods, tells her to go on as he sticks a Poptart into the toaster before opening the fridge. Derek eyes his food and tries not to groan when he realizes that he’s going to have to eat more of it if he wants to get the whole ‘domesticated animal’ act across. He still tries to shamelessly beg a few mouthfuls from Meg (which he gets) and Stiles (which he doesn’t get).

 

Not getting some of the hot fudge sundae Poptart is the reason Derek will cite for being grumpy when Stiles checks his stitches and says, “Huh. Look at that. They’re already healed.”

 

Derek ignores the amazed look the human gives him, staring with feigned boredom at the backdoor. The doggie door is latched shut. It looks like it’ll be a tight fit, but it’ll give him outside access. So he walks over to scratch at it, whining at Stiles to open it. But Stiles shakes his head.

 

“Sorry bud, can’t let you out on your own. It’s not that I don’t trust you, but I kind of don’t trust you to go off hunting some poor defenseless wild animal. You need to rest up too.”

 

He feels mildly insulted, but Derek understands the human’s logic. But he doesn’t like it. It’s why he acts aloof when the pair gets ready to leave. He melts however, when Meg runs over to give him a warm hug. “Be good,” she tells him, kissing his snout. Derek licks her nose in return and barks softly.

 

Stiles gives him a short but straightforward list of rules: stay off the couch, don’t break anything, stay hydrated, and the pile of newspapers in the kitchen corner is for when Derek needs to ‘do his business.’

 

Derek walks away from Stiles, heading back to give Meg one last snuffle goodbye. He sits back and watches the pair hurry out the door, Stiles swiping his car keys off the table before herding Meg out.

 

The door clicks shut and Derek finds himself alone in the small home. He waits by the door, listening to the car start up and drive away out of his hearing before shifting back to human.

The first thing the werewolf does as soon as he’s bi-pedal is to take the stupid cone off. After giving it a glare, Derek throws it on the sofa and decides to contact Laura. Good thing there’s a landline installed.

 

But when he calls her cell, Derek reaches her voice mail. Derek worries about this momentarily before forcing himself to calm down. It’s not the first time they’ve been forced to split up to escape hunters. They’ve hashed out a plan to deal with this ages ago. And part of the plan included one of them keeping a phone on them and returning to the car. Laura was probably... hiding like he was. She’d probably get to the car and their phones later. Or maybe she had the phones and they were powered off. Or maybe the phone had simply ran out of battery.

 

Unfortunately, Derek scowls, there’s also a good chance some hunter rifled through their things and snatched their phones, hoping to lead the siblings into a trap once they tried to contact each other. It’s the last thought which keeps him from telling her the house address. Instead, Derek simply tells her he’s fine and has safely reached the place she told him to go too and that he’ll be in touch later.

 

After that, he stares blankly at the floral print wallpaper and quietly asks, “Now what?”

 

Derek decides recon is in order. He’s got nothing better to do, so he might as well learn as much as he can about the Stilinski’s. Especially if he’s going to be staying with them for a while.

After he steals a clean pair of boxers, sweats, and t-shirt from the laundry basket sitting in the middle of the dining table (something he briefly judges Stiles for because who just leaves their clean laundry on the kitchen table like this?) Derek aimlessly wanders around the house.

 

He checks the kitchen first, more specifically, the fridge. A cursory look reveals nothing too appealing. He could fry up some eggs with toast, but that’s too much work. He closes the door and picks up the cereal box Meg’s left on the table. Cereal appeals to his lazy mood.

 

After he’s poured himself a bowl, Derek wanders into the living room. He peruses the eclectic selection of books and DVD’s before moving on to the pictures hanging on the wall behind the TV. A few of them are pictures of a large group of people, and from them Derek only recognize Stiles, Meg and Isaac. He notes that one couple and an older man are in majority of pictures--maybe they’re family.

 

Derek moves to the study shortly. Nothing remarkable here either. There’s a table, a bookshelf, a seat, and a bunch of throw pillows next to the bookshelf. He eyes the giant bookshelf on the far side and decides he’ll come back to it later for a more thorough examination. Derek checks out the study table, poking through a few bills around before checking out the stuffed raven perched on top. Its beady eyes seem to follow Derek as he turns it this way and that. _‘Weird thing to keep.’_ Derek decides before returning it to its perch.

 

Exiting the room, Derek checks out the laundry room before heading up stairs. He pauses a few steps in, spoon in mouth, when he sees there’s more pictures hanging along the way.

They’re all Megan’s baby pictures. And Derek notes, with a small degree of surprise, the lack of a mother figure. Meg had quietly explained last night how her mom lives away from them. That she’d left a long while ago and how Meg visits her from time to time. From her words, Derek had assumed Stiles was divorced. But he’d never thought that maybe she hadn’t been in Meg’s life from the _start_.

 

In fact, Derek realizes with surprise, other than the single framed picture of Meg’s mom placed on the girl’s bedside table, there’s not a single picture of the woman displayed in the house. There’s a few pictures of Stiles and the woman in the few photo albums stashed underneath a pile of Meg’s story books but that’s it. Perhaps the separation had been a bad one, Derek thinks to himself as he slips the photo album back into place. He wonders if Stiles keeps a picture of his ex-wife in his room.

 

A thorough but careful examination of Stiles’ room tells him no. It also yields nothing extraordinary or surprising. It’s a regular room, slightly on the cluttered side. Stiles’ closet is half empty, a cluttered mix of plaid shirt and simple button downs. There’s a small stack of books resting on his bedside table, along with a pair of glasses and an empty glass. The bed is messily made, one corner dangling lower than the other at the foot of the bed.

 

He checks the book titles. Again, an eclectic mix. Child psychology, non-fiction, fantasy, and a book on the mating habits of crabs. Shaking his head in confusion, Derek heads to the connected bathroom.

 

He finds nothing extraordinary there either. Some painkillers, decorative bandages, toiletries, half-full bottle of lube. An expired box of condoms. Unopened too. Derek shakes his head at the layer of dust covering the box before putting it back in its place under the sink. While he’s there, Derek makes use of the facilities as well.

 

Wiping his hands dry against the sweats, Derek goes back to the study and spends a good amount of time perusing the Stiles’ ceiling high bookshelf. He nods appreciatively at Dune and openly scoffs at some of the titles before leaning in to more closely examine the comic book collection. It is idle curiosity, Derek tells Laura’s giggling voice in his head, and not his inner nerd sticking its head out of the waters. He just wants to see if there’s more DC or more Marvel in Stiles’ collection. It would speak volumes about Stiles’ character.

 

He snorts quietly when he sees the collection is neatly split in half between DC and Marvel. _‘Guess that makes him an equal opportunity kind of person,’_ Derek decides, finishing off the last of the milk and cereal before he ambles into the kitchen.

 

Exploring the rest of the house kills another twenty minutes, washing his bowl and putting it away adds another five. This leaves him with hours upon hours of free time before either of the Stilinski’s return.

 

“Great,” Derek mutters with an annoyed huff.

 

\----

 

As Stiles opens the front door, he’s bracing himself. What else can he do after all? He’s left a _wolf_ alone in his home for the better part of the _day_. Stiles is expecting chaos of the highest order. He’s ready to walk into his ‘comfortably cluttered’ home and find it a total wreck. Complete with flying feathers. RIP his comfy couch.

 

By his side, Meg bounces impatiently on her toes and is tearing through the door as soon as Stiles has it open. “Careful!” Stiles chides her, relieved she’s at least remembered to take her shoes off before racing into the living room.

 

He shakes his head, smiling as she yells for Derek while racing through the house. His smile freezes when he sees the large animal come ambling down the stairs, cone and all, tail wagging slightly as he follows Meg’s voice. Does that mean the wolf has made a mess of the upstairs _too_? Stiles groans loudly, scrubbing his face with a hand as he walks into the living room. God, he’s probably going to spend half the night cleaning up the mess Derek’s made, isn’t he? Gonna have order a new couch or find that Derek’s done his business right in the middle of the-

 

But as soon as he gets an eyeful of the living room, which is in the same state he’d left it in, Stiles is forced to revise his opinion. He eyeballs the wolf that’s being hugged and petted by his daughter, wondering. Sure, he’d _told_ Derek to stay off the couch and not to poop anywhere but the newspaper pile in the kitchen and to not make a mess in general, but he didn’t expect the animal to _actually follow_ his instructions. No animal can be _this_ well behaved.

 

The wolf notices Stiles’ incredulous gaze and snorts in his direction before nosing at Meg’s cheek in a way that has the girl giggling. _‘Whatever,’_ Stiles decides with a tiny head shake. He’s not going to look this gift horse shoe in the mouth. There’s still the chance Derek’s made a complete mess upstairs. Or left a giant poop pile somewhere other than the designated wolf bathroom area.

 

“C’mon, Derek,” Meg says, hopping up to her feet. “Race you upstairs!”

 

“No running inside, remember,” Stiles immediately reminds his daughter, pulling his laptop bag off his shoulder. He holds on to it as he continues, “And please come downstairs after you’ve changed. I’ll help you with your homework.”

 

Meg nods, already trotting around the sofa toward the kitchen. He’s bemused when the wolf darts forward to catch the corner of Meg’s shirt by his teeth, effectively causing to Meg stop and give Derek a puzzled look.

 

 _‘What the hell?’_ he wonders, bewilderment rising as watches Derek herd Meg out of the room and upstairs, gently butting his head against her back when they get to the stairs. The most amazing thing? Meg obediently follows Derek’s lead with only the minimal amount of whining.

 

How smart are wolves supposed to be again? Stiles is trying to remember this when he walks into the kitchen and catches sight of the laundry basket. Crap. He knew he’d forgotten to do something this morning. Sighing to himself, Stiles wonders if he needs to start leaving a post-it note on his bathroom window or a phone alarm to remind himself to put the laundry away in time.

 

Now, to get to the basket, Stiles has to pass by the sink and drying rack. And as he’s passing by, Stiles’ eyes glance over the counter thoughtlessly. It takes him two seconds to process what he’s seeing and he does a double take.

 

The drying rack that had contained a single washed bowl this morning now has _two_ bowls in it.

Stiles stares at the bowls long and hard before muttering, “What the hell?” He distinctly remembers having Pop Tarts for breakfast, because Derek kept throwing him puppy eyes the whole time. Meg had been the only one to use a bowl, so...

 

Something wet touches his open palm, causing Stiles to yelp and jump back a step, bag clutched defensively against his chest. He whips around to stare down at Derek, who is sitting innocently, eyeing Stiles with the most amused look ever.

 

“Don’t _do_ that!” he half-yells at the wolf. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

 

Derek blinks lazily at him, not believing his words at all before leaning down to nose at his empty food bowl. Stiles stares stupidly at the container before it clicks. Right. Dinner. Stiles moves on auto-pilot, dropping the bag down into an empty chair before walking around Derek to pour some of his dog food into the empty bowl. Derek huffs an actual sigh before ambling over to dig in. Stiles wonders if maybe he doesn’t like the dog food. He’ll ask Isaac to give him a different brand next time.

 

With a small headshake, Stiles get to the fridge and pulls the door open, wondering what should he make tonight. Stir fry? Breakfast for dinner? Or may-

 

He freezes when he realizes Derek’s not wearing his cone. Stiles whips his head around, glares at the wolf before yelling, “Meg!”

 

There’s a beat of silence before his daughter yells back from the top of the stairs, “Yes, Daddy?”

“Did you take the cone off of Derek?”

 

Derek yawns, showing Stiles his fangs in a way that seems kind of casually intimidating. Stiles glares the wolf down. He’s not gonna be intimidated by a creature who is probably gonna be as tall as him if it were to stand up on its hind legs. No sir!

 

“Yep! He didn’t need it anymore, so I took it off.” Meg yells back.

 

Shooting a disbelieving look at the doorway, Stiles walks over to Derek to see for himself. Derek makes an inquisitive noise as Stiles crouches next to him, watching him as Stiles gently examines Derek’s leg. The faint pink scar he saw this morning has faded away to smooth skin. There’s _no_ mark on Derek implying he’d been hurt _only yesterday_. He stares, feeling utterly dumbfounded.

 

Shaking his head, Stiles gives Derek’s head a distracted pat before walking back to the fridge. He must have assumed the wound wasn’t as bad as it looked. Hadn’t Isaac said it was just a flesh wound?

 

As Stiles stares into the fridge, debating between mac and cheese with bacon and a simple stew, Derek finishes his meal with a long drink from his water bowl before sitting down on the floor. Watching Stiles as he pulls pots and pans out to start cooking.

 

It feels weird being under such intense scrutiny. However, rather than feeling like prey, Stiles feels like he’s being judged by the wolf--if such a thing were possible. Derek continues to sit in the doorway, head tilted in puppy-esque curiosity. A loud ‘thump’ has Derek’s ears flicking up at the ceiling however. Stiles glances up as well before looking back, raising an eyebrow when Derek continues to stare up like he can hear whatever Meg’s up to. Which is impossible.

 

Right? Stiles pauses, staring at the water filling the pot before muttering, “How good is a wolf’s hearing, anyway?”

 

He turns around to glance at Derek again, but the wolf is gone. Startled, Stiles pulls away from the sink with a loud, “Derek?”

 

There’s a moment’s pause before a loud bark comes from the landing, following by the sound of claws pattering up the stairs. “What a weirdo,” Stiles mutters under his breath, jumping when he hears another bark, louder and clearly not happy.

 

Well that answered _that_ question, didn’t it?

 

\----

 

When he hears the thump, Derek doesn’t think much of it. He assumes Meg must have bumped into something or dropped some toy. But the quiet sniffling that follows has his attention in a heart beat. He can’t smell it, but he’s sure Meg’s hurt herself in some way. Why else would she be crying? He leaves the kitchen quickly, barking his position (and unamusement) at Stiles before nosing his way inside the girl’s room.

 

Sure enough, she’s sitting on the floor with tears in her eyes and a wicked looked scrape on her elbow. “Derek,” Meg sniffles, wiping her cheeks with one hand before reaching for him. Derek trots forward, ignoring the wet hand clinging to him while carefully sniffing the wound. It looks bad, a lot like her elbow got dragged hard along the rough carpet. “I tripped on my bag and fell.”

 

At least it isn’t bleeding _too_ badly. But it still needed to be treated properly. Hadn’t he seen a first aid kit in the bathroom somewhere?

 

Sighing mightily, Derek rubs his cheek against Megs before trotting out into the bathroom--both to retrieve the first aid kit he’d spied there _and_ to change into his borrowed clothes. He’s going to have to shift to human to grab the first aid kit he’d seem stashed in one of the top cupboards. And he really didn’t feel comfortable being naked for even a _minute_ with Meg a few doors down.

 

As soon as he’s pulled the sweats on, Derek begins to root through the small cabinets under the sink. The first one holds toilet paper and cleaning supplies and a musty smelling towel but no first aid kit. The second one has just towels. The third is empty.

 

 _‘Where the hell is it?’_ Derek frowns, yanking the fourth drawer open. And there it is. The first aid kit he’s been looking for. He plucks it out, turning it around a few times in his hands as he wonders how to take it to Meg. Hold it in his teeth maybe?

 

He’s debating turning back into a wolf and just dragging Stiles upstairs (or Meg downstairs) when Meg throws the door open.

 

Derek feels his heart stop, holding his breath as Meg blinks up at him. They stare at each other for a long, tense minute before Meg tilts her head questioningly.

 

“Derek?” she asks, almost causing him to stagger back in shock. “What’re you doing in here?”

 

Derek stares back in surprise. “How did you know that?” he can’t help but ask. “And what are _you_ doing here?”  

 

Meg points at the sink with her uninjured arm. “I’m here to clean my wound. I need to get to the sink.”

 

Numbly, Derek takes a step back and watches Meg as she pulls a stool over in front of the sink before clambering on top of it. She twists the tap on and carefully runs warm water over her elbow until she deems the wound clean enough. He turns the tap off, helping her gently pat-dry the bruise before allowing himself to be led back into the room by one warm hand curled around two of his fingers,

 

“You didn’t tell me how you knew it was me,” he says as she’s pulling him down, sitting down cross legged while she holds her elbow out towards him. “How did you know I was-”

 

Large brown eyes blink at him, shining with intelligence. “Your eyes,” she answers. “They’re the same color when you’re human and a wolf. They blinked blue just now too. Like when you told me your name.”

 

Derek decides he is never going to tell Laura about this. _Ever_. She’d have his hide for slipping so badly. Could he blame it on his nerves? After all, he _is_ in hiding. What with the stress he’s under, he can be forgiven for slipping up.As Derek opens the box, he thinks that’ll never fly. He’ll just... not tell Laura this happened, period.

 

Anyways, Derek makes a face down at the open kit. How is he supposed to do this, anyway? Is he supposed to just put a bandaid on top of the wound or use some of the antiseptic cream? It’s been too long since he’s helped a human bandage their wounds.

 

 _‘Better safe than sorry,’_ Derek figures as he unscrews the cap off the tube.

 

As he gently spreads a thin layer of cream on the girl’s wound, Derek says, “You can’t tell anyone about me, Meg. There’re people out there who’d hurt me if they ever found out who... _what_ I am.”

 

Earnest eyes peer up at him, followed by a determined nod. “I won’t. I promise.” Derek stares in surprise at the fist which nearly clocks him in the nose and the pinkie finger held up. “Pinkie swear.”

 

It’s with tremendous amounts of trepidation and some amusement that Derek offers his own pinkie finger up. Meg grabs it with her own, hooking their fingers together before shaking them thrice while chanting, “Cross my heart, hope to fly! Stick a cupcake in my eye!”

 

Derek’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He’s not sure, but that doesn’t sound right to him. But Meg seems satisfied with it so he gives his head a small shake before asking, “Hello Kitty bandaid or Spiderman?”

 

He’s hard pressed not to smile when she chirps, “Both!”

 

\----

 

There are two things Stiles wants to talk about.

 

First, Isaac’s promise. The man had said he’d look into finding out who Derek belonged too. That it wouldn’t take too long. That as soon as Deaton was back, Derek’d be out of their lives. But it’s been almost a week and Derek’s toeing the line between ‘temporary part of our lives’ and ‘semi-permanent.’

 

Hell, both Scott _and_ his dad know about Derek now.

 

Under the guise of bringing over dog food Isaac wanted Stiles to feed Derek, Scott had met the wolf and had immediately fallen in love with the creature. “If Allison didn’t have dog allergies we’d so have a dog,” Scott told Derek mournfully, hands busily rubbing the wolf’s belly. “How about I get you some nice treats next time?” Derek panted happily and wriggled around until Scott’s fingers found the perfect spot.

 

His dad found out about Derek during a phone call. The Sheriff had been telling Stiles about his new case when Meg dashed past him, yelling, “We’re going outside for walkies!” He’d decided that since Derek was well behaved enough, he could go out for exercise and a walk around the backyard at least. Call it a trial run.

 

Stiles had pulled his mouth away from the receiver to yell back, “Don’t forget Derek’s leash!” It turned out to be unnecessary because Derek trotted up to him, leash _and_ collar in mouth. Sighing, Stiles propped his phone between his ear and shoulder before kneeling down.

 

“Stiles?” His dad asked cautiously from the other end. “Who’s Derek? And why does he need a leash?”

 

He’s glad he’s on his cell before Derek drags him out into the backyard, panting happily. As he hands the leash over to Meg, Stiles quickly explained the situation. He could feel his father’s skepticism over the phone line. “You sure you’re up to this? It takes a lot of time and energy to look after a creature like that.”

 

Stiles had quickly reassured his dad that no, they were doing okay. Yes, he could handle it. Sure, why not, come over anytime. Derek would love to meet him. Just bring some treats or something for him. The Sheriff promises to visit as soon as he has the time.

 

Which brings him to thing two. Life with Derek underfoot has been surprisingly pleasant. He’s Meg’s playmate slash nanny, and he’s good at it too. The wolf is patient, gentle, and attentive toward his daughter. He’s almost always within five feet of Meg, except dinner time which is when he hovers around Stiles making pitiful whining noises.

 

Stiles hardens his heart every time Derek gives him puppy dog eyes, begging for whatever food he’s cooked up. “You can’t have human food, you know that,” Stiles says over and over again, waving his spoon at Derek’s bowl. “You’ve got your meat and yummy biscuits right there.”

 

The sad part is, he always breaks. At some point, Derek’s sad looks are too much for his soft heart, and Stiles winds up sharing some of his food with him. Tonight, the wolf had actually wolfed down some beef stew. Just a few pieces of meat and potatoes. Stiles’ isn’t sure how bad it is for Derek, but the happy, satisfied look on his face told him how much Derek enjoyed the treat.

 

After dinner, the wolf had lain down on the floor next to Meg, napping while she and Stiles went through her homework, sleeping off his food coma. Midway through, Stiles texted Isaac, asking for an update regarding Derek’s situation.

 

< **Any news about the wolf? How much longer do I need to keep him? I’m running out of food!!!!!**

 

An hour later, when Stiles is walking Derek down the block as one last bathroom break before Stiles goes to sleep, Isaac replies back.

 

> **nope. called sum ppl but nothing so far. will bring more food 4 u tmrw.**

 

Stiles makes a relieved face at the phone while Derek goes about his business behind a bush. At least that’s one less thing to worry about - the food, not the living arrangements. Derek calmly walks back out, shaking himself before tugging Stiles in the direction of home. Stiles stare at his phone the short walk back, wondering if he ought to ask Isaac how much the food is gonna cost him. Isaac probably won't ask for money but he _will_ ask for some big favor at some point.

 

A gruff bark near his hip causes Stiles to look up. Derek is staring over the fence at their neighbor's’ house, head tilted.

 

“What do you hear Lassie? Is Timmy down the well again?” Stiles jokes.

 

He gets the feeling Derek doesn’t appreciate his joke when he _drags_ Stiles back inside, leash straining, ignoring him as he keeps trying to get Derek to stop or heel. “That’s gonna be sore in the morning.” Stiles moans, fingers kneading his right shoulder, leash wrapped around his right hand. Derek trots away upstairs in response.

 

He assumes the wolf is going to go to crawl into his bed-nest and go to sleep, following in Meg’s footsteps. But for his part, Stiles doesn’t feel ready for bed just yet. He throws the leash over the nearest chair, tempted to watch a movie and maybe play a game. Oh yes, some TV sounds good!

 

Finding something to watch is easy enough. Stiles turns the TV on and starts to surf. Eventually he stumbles onto a The Walking Dead marathon and he deems it good enough. But where has he put his laptop? He needs to check his email and other junk.

 

The light pouring out from the television is hardly enough for him to get a proper look around the room. So Stiles leans over to turn the lamp on, the one next to his side of the sofa. The quiet click is followed by a familiar pattering sound coming from the stairs. Stiles cranes his neck around to check if it’s Meg sneaking downstairs.

 

It’s Derek, the dark wolf barely discernable in the shadows. It’s only thanks to it’s pale eyes and the light reflecting off them does Stiles know he’s paused at the bottom of the steps. For a moment, their gaze holds before Derek snorts loudly and turns his body toward the kitchen.

 

Probably for a drink of water, if he had to guess. The funny part is that, if Stiles didn’t know any better, he’d swear he’s just been dismissed. It’s _incredible_ how expressive the wolf is. All this time together and that’s the biggest thing he’s learned about Derek--he is _incredibly_ expressive. From the way he watches over Meg to the way he listens to Stiles when he sternly tells the wolf, “Don’t even think about it!” seconds before Derek is about to hop on top of the sofa.

 

Stiles watches Derek slink away, doing a violent double take when the light causes Derek’s eyes to flash _pale blue_ instead of their normal green. “What the hell?” he asks Rick Grimes, who ignores him and keeps on talking with Daryl. Asshole.

 

 _‘Had to be a trick of the light,’_ Stiles tells himself, giving his head a good shake. Yeah. That sounds rational, right? It was a trick of the light. Lights make anime eyes flash and shit, right? Or maybe he just hallucinated it. That’s another possibility. Lack of sleep can lead to hallucinations, if he remembers correctly.

 

“I need to sleep more,” he mutters to himself, getting up on his feet. But first, he needs to relax and for that, he needs to play some WoW. Just as an hour.

 

The search for the laptop bag continues. He checks the back of the sofa, under the coffee table, and by the bookshelf, but his bag isn’t there. “Where’d I put it,” Stiles mutters, frowning as he taps his fingers against his hips. He had been wearing the bag when he’d come home. Stiles begins to mentally retrace his steps from that point and quickly remembers leaving his bag in the kitchen.

 

 _‘One of these days I’m gonna remember to keep the bag on the coffee table instead of random ass places.’_ He shakes his head, wondering why he hasn’t grown out of his scatterbrain habits by now. Stiles can _hear_ his dad clucking in disapproval in his head.

 

Zombies moan in the background as he shuffles across the room, mildly wondering if it’s a good idea to catch up on the _Walking Dead_ right before he goes to bed. Probably not, but Stiles likes a good scare.

 

He turns the kitchen light on, smile freezing when he sees the dark haired man standing in front of the sink.

 

Stiles’ eyes dart to the hips wearing his Spongebob shorts then to the water glass being held under the faucet before looking at the handsome stranger. He doesn’t exactly scream bloody murder, but it’s loud enough to startle the intruder into dropping the glass. The sharp cracking sound of glass breaking is as loud as a gunshot.

 

“Who the hell are you?” Stiles yells, hands patting the wall for a weapon. Anything would work at this point. His fingers curl around the phonebook. Stiles gives it a short glance before throwing it back down. Almost anything. Ah!

 

Stiles holds up a baseball bat, the same one Melissa had gifted him with when he’d moved into this house with Meg, and gives the intruder his best glare. “You’ve got five seconds to run before I call the cops.”

 

The stranger’s pale eyes dart to the ceiling weirdly before lowering to meet Stiles’ angry glare. His hands slowly raise up, palms out towards Stiles. “I’m not going to hurt you,” the man begins in a calm voice.

 

Stiles glares harder, grip tightening on his bat. “Bullshit,” he spits out. He knows how bad home invasions can get. There’s no way he’s going to let his guard down. No damn way.

 

But all his plans and intentions go out the window when he hears something slowly walking down the stairs. “Meg?” Stiles yells, slowly inching towards the door in the hopes of preventing Meg from coming in. “Is that you?”

 

“Yes, Daddy,” her sleepy voice answers back. “I was thirsty and got tired of waitin’ for Derek to get me some water.”

 

Derek. _Shit_. Where’s the wolf when they need him?

 

The intruder watches him make his way toward the door, hands still up and body tense. There’s a good chance the guy might grab some of the glass in the sink and... Stiles doesn’t want to think about what the stranger might do. The sky’s the limit at this point. Shit. Is the knife drawer open or close? Cold sweat breaks out on his forehead as he imagines all the ways this could go so very, _very_ bad.

 

“Just stay out there, baby. I’ll get you some water.” Stiles almost begs his daughter, “Don’t come in here!”

 

But it’s too late. Meg’s already pushing the door open, walking into the kitchen with one plump fist rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Her dark eyes find Stiles first before landing on the stranger. Stiles is next to her in a flash, standing protectively in front of his daughter. There’s no way he’s going to put her in harm’s way.

 

His daughter, however, has other plans when she leans around his legs and whines, “Derek, you said you’d bring me some water.”

 

If he wasn’t so busy glaring the intruder down, Stiles would correct Meg’s mistake.The wolf is no where around and secondly, how did she expect the animal to bring her a glass of water, anyway?

 

The intruder tenses further. It reminds Stiles of a cello string being wound up so tight it’s in danger of snapping. He stiffens in response, ready for any violent response. But the tension melts off the man’s very attractive and broad shoulders, like water off a duck’s back. He jerks his head toward the sink as he speaks, “I was, but your dad surprised me.” The man looks at Stiles, looking contrite and apologetic when he continues, “Sorry about your glass.”

 

What’s going on here.

 

Why Meg is acting like she knows this guy.

 

 _Does_ she know him?

 

Is he some kind of pedophile?

 

How’d he get into the house?

 

And why the hell is he wearing _Stiles’ shorts?_

 

One question at a time.

 

Stiles doesn’t lower the bat, _or_ loosen his grip when he asks his daughter, “Meg? Do you know this man?”

 

“Of course,” shes says, her voice laced with a heavy ‘duh.’ “It’s Derek.”

 

For the first time since he’s seen the man, Stiles takes his eyes off the rippling pectorals and eyes Meg. So, she knows a guy who has the same name as the wolf? Maybe this guy is where she’d gotten the inspiration?

 

“Where do you know Derek from?”

 

Stiles wants to point out there will be a direct correlation present between the amount of broken bones Derek will have and Meg’s answer. He’s anticipating a lot of answers but “He’s staying with us, remember?” is the last thing he expects to hear Meg say.

 

Blinking in confusion, Stiles slowly answers, “Meg, baby. I think I’d remember if we had another guy living with us.”

 

Meg’s sigh is long suffering and tired. She shakes her head at Derek, like she can’t believe how Stiles is acting. “But he’s not a person, Daddy. He’s more than that!” Out of the corner of his eyes, Stiles notes Derek’s form stiffening again.

 

“Meg,” Derek begins quietly, voice thick with concern.

 

The girl gives him a pleading look. “Can’t we tell him? It’s Daddy! He can keep your secret!”

 

Secret? What kind of secret is Meg talking about? Stiles is _so_ confused right now. And it’s only amping up his desire to call the police.

 

“Please?” the young girl wheedles.

 

Stiles turns his attention to Derek, watching him as he struggles with his decision before sighing. He’s got the feeling he’s not going to like this.

 

\----

 

Derek’s sitting on one end of the sofa and wearing a t-shirt _and_ Spongebob shorts--because Stiles had declared his nakedness to be a distraction from serious conversation--while Stiles sits on the other end. The man is staring blankly at the infomercial playing on screen, fingers steepled over his face as he remains buried in deep thought. This quiet Stiles sets Derek’s teeth on edge. He wants to fidget, get up and pace, shift back into his wolf form and run around the house a few times instead of forcing himself to sit still and wait for Stiles to say something. It’s been over ten minutes and Derek’s patience is at its limit.

 

“Stiles?” Derek finally breaks the silence.

 

Stiles holds up his free hand, index finger pointing up. “Gimme a minute. I’m almost done processing this.” Derek watches as the digit hovers mid-air before dropping back down on the plush material. “Werewolves are real,” Stiles says slowly, like he’s testing the weight of the words on his tongue.

 

Derek watches and waits. There’s little else he can do right now. Stiles throws himself back, causing a tiny cloud of dust motes to rise and float around them. “ _Werewolves_ ,” Stiles repeats, “are _real_.”

 

There’s another moment of silence before Stiles holds his arm out towards Derek. “Pinch me. I might be dreaming.”

 

Derek looks at the pale limb stretched towards him before thinking, what the hell. He takes hold of an inch of skin on Stiles’ arm in his fingertips and twists. Stiles yelps immediately, body jumping back so hard his head hits the lamp. “Ouch! What the hell?” Stiles hisses, arm curled protectively against his chest.

 

Derek tries not to smirk. “You asked.”

 

“It was a rhetorical question, you nutjob,” Stiles hisses back, rubbing the affected area. He continues to rub the pink skin, eventually stopping and simply grasping his own arm. Stiles’ gaze goes from distant to sharp so fast Derek’s surprised. He turns to face Derek, a serious expression on his face.

 

Derek can’t help but swallow at the realization that the look suits Stiles.

 

“Tell me everything.” Stiles says. No. _Demands._

 

Derek makes a face. “I can’t. For your own safety, I can’t. The less you know, the safer you’ll be.”

 

He can see the gears clicking in Stiles’ head, sifting through Derek’s words and giving them meaning. “Are you on the run? Being hunted? You’re not a murderer are you?”

 

The distrustful look Stiles gives him makes Derek roll his eyes in exasperation. He knows he doesn’t have the friendliest face, but _really_? “I’m on the run _and_ being hunted.”

 

“Who’s hunting you? Do you need a place to hide?” Derek lets his eyes slowly track the length of the living room as an answer before meeting Stiles’ eyes again. Understanding fills Stiles’ eyes before he asks again, “Scratch that. You obviously need a place to hide. Who’s hunting you then? Buffy?”

 

Ignoring the pop culture reference _and_ poor attempt at humor, Derek shrugs heavily. “Don’t know. Didn’t get a good look at them. I just know they were hunters.”

 

“What? Werewolves don’t have superhuman vision?”

 

Stiles’ jab prickles at his pride, causing his words to come out more waspish than he wants. “We _do_. But it’s hard to pay attention to your surroundings when you’re being shot at. _In the dark_.”

 

The human immediately looks abashed, looking down shame-faced. It makes his stomach twist unhappily.

 

“I didn’t see them,” Derek finally speaks up, voice hard and tight with control. “It was just--there wasn’t enough time to see who or how many people were shooting at us. One minute we’re driving, and the next I’m being shoved out the car and into the woods.”

 

He can hear Laura telling him to shift and run, can hear it like she’s been sitting next to him instead of in his memory. He clenches his fists. Where _is_ Laura right now? Is she safe? Derek hopes she is. She _has_ to be. The second message he’d left her had gone to voicemail too.

 

“Us?” Stiles cuts into his thoughts gently. “You weren’t alone?”

 

Derek forces himself to unclench his fists and relax before answering, “My sister was with me. We were driving down to Beacon Hills, but a flat tire forced us to stop. When we got out, we realized someone had laid this line of nails on the road. As soon as we saw it, we knew it was a trap.”

 

He quickly explains how they’d been chased into the forest, bullets and arrows and jeers coming from the darkness until they both had shifted to their wolf forms and ran. During the course of his story, Stiles shifts closer and closer, winding up seated right next to Derek.

 

The human’s eyes are earnest and worried when he asks, “Do you know where Laura is now? Didn’t you guys have some kind of plan for situations like this?”

 

Shaking his head, Derek answers, “I don’t know where she is. We’ve never been split like this before so we never...” He pauses, wets his chapped lips and tries again. “She told me to get to Beacon Hills. That she’d find me. I tried calling her twice, but it went straight to voicemail.”

 

Stiles frowns as he asks, “Is that good or bad?”

 

Making a face, the werewolf raises one shoulder in a heavy shrug. Could be good, could be bad, he can’t say.

 

Making a face of his own, Stiles clicks his tongue before ruffling his hair. “Well. I dunno if you picked this up already or not, but you’re already in Beacon Hills. So that’s one less thing to worry about.”

 

“I picked that up, thanks,” Derek retorts wryly. “I _do_ know how to read.”

 

The human immediately shoots him a puzzled-annoyed look, “What?”

 

Derek leans back into the sofa, nodding in the direction of Stiles’ study. “I brought your mail in a few times, remember? I read the address the first time.”

 

An embarrassed flush takes over Stiles’ face. “Right. Forgot about that.” Stiles gives him a sheepish look before continuing in a stronger voice, “Lets focus on the good parts here.”

 

“If you’ve got some way of contacting Laura, then we can even try tracking her down.” Stiles is on his feet, pacing back and forth as he bounces from one idea to another. “If you’ve got her cell number then we can find her. If we’re lucky, it’ll be on and we can get a lock on her location within a few hours. If we’re unlucky, we’ll look for her the old fashioned way. And there’s always your nose. We’ll just have to cross our fingers that the hunting guys didn’t follow you or Laura into town.”

 

Stiles hops to his feet, pacing in front of Derek as he mutters details under his breath. Derek isn’t sure if he _dares_ to hope. But he remembers what happened _the last time_ he easily trusted a stranger. He needs to be careful. No matter how much he feels at ease around Stiles or how much he _wants_ to trust him, Derek needs to be careful.

 

He’s thrown for a moment when Stiles yawns widely, jaw popping. “Jeez, I forgot how late it was,” the human says, blinking hard. “I need to get my ass to bed.”

 

Shooting a look to the nearest clock, Derek realizes Stiles is right. They both should get to sleep. He pushes himself up to his feet right as the human clears his throat. As he looks at Stiles, Derek immediately notes how uncomfortable but determined Stiles looks.

 

“Look,” Stiles begins haltingly, “no offense or anything but, uh, I need you to sleep in the car or something tonight. I just. I’ve got a daughter and I know she trusts you, but I just...”

 

He shakes his head to stop Stiles. “You don’t have to explain yourself.” Because Stiles doesn’t. Derek gets it. “I’ll sleep outside on the back porch. It’s no trouble.”

 

Stiles pulls a face like he disagrees, but his relief is palpable. “Thanks. I can get you a sleeping bag too. That’ll be a lot more comfortable for you.”

 

Shaking his head, Derek replies, “It’s okay. I can manage.”

 

“How?” Stiles asks, dragging the vowel out in his disbelief. Derek crosses his arms and waits, hoping Stiles will get it. It takes the human a while, but understanding eventually dawns. “Right. Wolf. Should I grab your blankets? I’ll get your blankets.”

 

Without waiting for Derek’s answer, Stiles heads towards the staircase.

 

Derek follows dumbly because he’s aware of a question bubbling its way up his throat. He’s still cautious of Stiles, but there’s also hope growing in him. That maybe, just maybe, he’s lucked out this time. But Derek _has_ to know something.

 

“ _Why_ are you doing this?” Derek asks as Stiles’ foot hits the stairs. Because he needs to know. He wants some justification that he’s not putting his faith in the wrong person again. “You don’t have to help me. You could just kick me out.”

 

Stiles pauses, hand resting on the bannister. “Because it’s the right thing to do,” he answers, like it’s obvious. “ _Duh_.”

 

\----

 

Helping Derek might be the right thing to do, but that doesn’t mean that it’s the _easiest_ thing to do. It’s actually really hard. Most of the usual avenues of help, such as filing a report with the Sheriff’s Department, are out of the question so long as the hunters are out there.

 

“It’s possible they’re keeping an eye on police chatter,” Derek points out the next morning, briskly making sandwiches for Stiles and Meg’s lunches. A morning which has so far been very _interesting_.

 

Stiles’ has been made aware of the supernatural side of life and now he’s just… He internally feels like a cartoon character whose top has just blown off in shock. He can’t _believe_ werewolves are real. He’d woken up half hoping the last night was a nightmare. Hell, walking into the kitchen, catching sight of Derek sitting _outside_ the door, one hundred percent furry, Stiles had a moment of _‘Maybe I_ did _hallucinate the whole thing_.’

 

But then the wolf had walked up to the laundry basket on the table, stood up on his hind legs, sniffed around in the clean clothes, snagged a pair of sweats and trotted away to the bathroom.

Stiles feels he had been _justified_ when he’d sat down on the table, held his head and groaned, “What is my life.”

 

It had been the cherry on top of his sundae of despair when Derek had walked in right then and questioningly said, “Your life is good?”

 

Stiles shot Derek an unamused glare before asking Derek to tell him everything he could about werewolves.

 

“If you don’t,” Stiles had warned, “I’m not going to help you. I need to know this so I can better protect myself and my daughter. So start talking.”

 

Thankfully, Derek had complied and made breakfast along the way before moving on to make packed lunches for Stiles and Meg. There had been a few interruptions--Stiles leaving to wake Meg up, Meg asking her own questions, Stiles herding his daughter back upstairs to get her ready. By the time he’d been clambering into the car, waving a distracted hand at the half naked Derek standing in his doorway, Stiles’ head felt like exploding.

 

The feeling sticks with him all the way to work. He juggles between work and trying to think up  other ways to help Derek. In the end he arrives at the conclusion that they’re going to need Danny’s help. He’s going to have to meet Danny, talk to him in person, and convince him to help Derek out under the table. Which means he needs to get his story straight.

 

It’s around noon and Stiles’ brain is shifting between work and trying to work out a plan of action for convincing Danny when his cell buzzes. He glances at the lit screen, heart speeding up when he sees the call is from his dad.

 

He immediately grabs the phone and accepts the call. “Dad?” Stiles answers. “Everything okay?”

 

“When were you going to tell me you were seeing someone?”

 

That question isn’t _anywhere_ on his list of things he expects his dad to ask him. Stiles blinks in confusion before saying, “What.”

 

He looks around, wondering if he’s being pranked again. He’s going to kill Greenberg if so. But his dad sighs, disappointed. “Son. You don’t have to lie to me.”

 

“I’m not lying!” Stiles exclaims a little too loudly. A few heads turn around to eye him, causing Stiles to hunch over his desk. “I’m not seeing anybody!”

 

In a voice heavy with skepticism, his dad asks, “Then who’s the guy staying with at your house?”

 

“What guy?.” Stiles asks, voice going higher in confusion. What the hell is his dad talking about? There’s no _guy_ staying over. Unless.... he means.... Oh no.

 

His dad hums. “Imagine my surprise, when I stop by your house thinking I’ll check up on your dog, I see a guy working out in your living room. Also, you need to remember to close the blinds of the front window when you leave, how many times do I have to remind you of that, Stiles?”

 

Stiles facepalms, hand dragging down his face as he exhales in annoyance. That’s what he’d thought. Of _all_ the ways for the cat to come out of the bag. Or the wolf.

 

“And then Mr. Robbins told me the guy had stayed the night too because he was there in the morning when you guys left.”

 

Groaning, Stiles lets his head drop on the table with a quiet thud.

 

“Mind explaining what’s going on,” his dad drawls in _that_ voice--the one he adopts only when his patience is on it’s last leg. “Any time now.”

 

It’s only natural he winds up telling his dad the same story he was going to sell to Danny. Stiles figures if his dad is going to buy it, then there’s no doubt Danny will too. Actually, if he manages to convince his dad to help, then maybe he won’t have to strong arm Danny’s help! The thought spurs him on. Stiles stumbles over his words a few times but he manages to tell his dad everything he needs to know to garner his sympathies.

 

For the most part, Stiles tells the truth. He just leaves out the supernatural parts. Obviously.

 

“Well,” his dad muses when Stiles is done, “if his sister’s in town then we can keep an eye out for her. I’ll need a description and some other information.”

 

He nods in agreement. “Okay, sure. Why don’t you swing by tomorrow? I’ll tell Derek to be re--” Stiles freezes when he realizes something. “Dad?” he asks in a weak croak. “Did you... When you _saw_. Did you...You met him already, didn’t you?”

 

There’s a snort and a short laugh. “Took you long enough to ask that. But I’m sorry to say I didn’t. After I saw him, I wondered who he was so I rang the doorbell.” Stiles can’t help but groan because he’s got a feeling this story is going to take a twist he’s not going to like. “I heard someone running upstairs and I thought he’d gone to grab a shirt. I waited for a while, but he didn’t come down again. So I rang the bell again. A couple of times, actually, but the guy didn’t come back downstairs. I thought he might try jumping out the back window, but nothing.”

 

“He’s kinda had bad experiences with uh...people in positions of power,” Stiles explains weakly. He can’t even _begin_ to imagine how Derek must have felt looking through the peephole and seeing the _Sheriff_ standing there. “I guess he got spooked when he saw you?”

 

Silence stretches between them for several long, heavy seconds. Stiles knows what he’s implying. He can’t help but cringe, hoping against hope his dad is buying this.

 

“Maybe,” the Sheriff agrees quietly. “If he doesn’t feel comfortable talking to me, then I’ll need you to get the information I need to find his sister.”

 

Stiles can’t help but sag in relief. “Yeah, yeah sure. I’ll ask him.”

 

His relief only grows as they make small talk before hanging up, though his dad still _demands_ a meeting with wolf! Derek as soon as possible. “I want to see this wolf you’re taking care of,” he’d said. In the end however, Stiles breathes a heavy sigh of relief. It looks like his dad is on board with helping Derek. This is good news.

 

It’s enough to keep his mood light and happy when he swings by Kira’s after school care to pick Meg up. While listening to Meg happily chatter away about her day, Stiles’ good mood only improves. His smile dims slightly as he pulls the car into the driveway.

 

His eyes go straight to the living room window facing the street. The window has a small window seat that’s perfect to sit on and watch people walk by. Because of this, Stiles rarely closes the blinds. He prefers the view. He’s never thought about how keeping the blinds open meant people could look _into_ his home in return.

 

 _‘Gotta remember to close the blinds before I leave tomorrow. Ugh, what if someone else sees Derek wandering around? Oh shit. Had someone else already seen him maybe? Damn windows...’_ Stiles reminds himself, unlocking the door and ushering Meg in.

 

“Derek?” Meg calls loudly. “We’re home!”

 

The man steps out of the study, open book pressed against his thigh. “Hey,” he says. Meg beams, drops her bag and races up to him, arms out. Derek’s face cracks into a soft smile as he kneels and accepts her hug. “Have a good day?” he asks her gently.

 

Stiles moves to interrupt even as Meg nods, grinning toothily. “Before you start telling Derek about your day, you better go change, baby. Then you guys can talk, okay?”

 

Even though she pouts, Meg obediently goes upstairs. Stiles waits for her to go out of earshot before pulling Derek into the kitchen to talk with him. “We need to talk,” he begins hurriedly, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Meg isn’t eavesdropping before looking back at Derek. “We need to talk about what happened today.”

 

But then he pauses when a _delicious_ scent floats up his nose. Without thinking about it, Stiles raises his nose and takes a few sniffs. “What’s that smell?” he asks Derek, eyes wide with delight.

 

Derek’s cheeks tint with color. It’s the barest shade of pink which deepens as Stiles’ gaze goes to the man's ears. “I thought I’d make dinner,” Derek explains gruffly. “It’s just lasagna.”

 

“ _Lasagna_?” Stiles’ voice goes high with delight. He’s a decent cook, but there’re a few things he’s never been able to cook properly. And one of those dishes, is lasagna. He just can’t get the white sauce and pasta sheets ratio right.

 

He forgets everything, hurrying over to the oven to take a peek at the dish cooking inside. “It’s nothing special,” Derek says from behind.

 

But Stiles can’t _wait_ to eat this. _‘Look at that cheese.’_ Drool gathers in his mouth as he watches the thick layer of cheese bubble around the edges. “How much longer ‘till it’s done?” Stiles asks.

 

“Another ten minutes.”

 

Perfect. More than enough time to talk with Derek. Stiles nods to himself, slapping his hands on his thighs as he straightens up. “Right,” he says, turning around to face the werewolf. “Plenty of time to talk.”

 

\----

 

Laura teased him about a lot of things, but one of her favorite topics was how Derek becomes grumpy when embarrassed. It’s a defence mechanism or something. Laura had tried explaining it once, but he hadn’t listened. All he knows is that when he’s feeling embarrassed about something, Derek gets a little too...curt.

 

“Look,” Stiles says exasperated, “I’m _sorry_ I didn’t tell you my dad’s the Sheriff, but I didn’t think you guys would meet when you were all human. Dad doesn’t come around unless it’s for dinner or something. It was a complete freak accident.”

 

He knows this. Derek _does_. He’sstill a little rattled. Who wouldn’t be, though? One minute Derek had been keeping track of how many one handed push-up’s he’d done so far and the next he was looking up at the sound of someone tapping on the window. Someone, as it turned out, was the Sheriff.

 

They’d stared at each other for a few seconds before Derek had caught sight of the badge. He’d leapt up to his feet and had ran upstairs, stumbling only when the doorbell rang long and insistent.

 

Derek had hovered indecisively on the top of the staircase, listening to the police officer mutter to himself before ringing the doorbell again. He’d _thought_ the man looked familiar, but given his circumstances and species, Derek had assumed the man was a Hunter who was trying to get him and Laura. His brain hadn’t made a connection between the man and the pictures hanging up on the walls.

 

“I still can’t believe you didn’t recognize him,” Stiles muses, eyes darting to stare Meg down as she sneakily tries to transfer some of her carrots on his plate. “I thought you’d seen the pictures of him.”

 

Derek aggressively shovels a big mouthful of cheese, meat, and pasta into his mouth, muttering, “‘ve got better things to do.” Rude, yes. But, embarrassment.

 

Shaking and rolling his eyes, Stiles says, “Whatever you say. Anyway. Dad says he’ll help out. Do you wanna meet him or do you want me to play mediator?”

 

“What’s a mediator?” Meg asks immediately, bright eyes looking between Derek and Stiles.

 

Returning the carrots to their rightful owner, Stiles explains, “A mediator is someone who helps stop two people from fighting.”

 

“Like the referee in wrestling?”

 

Meg’s reply makes Derek chuckle, as well as Stiles.

 

“Just like that,” Stiles agrees with a laugh. He pats Meg on the head before gently telling her to eat her carrots. She pulls a face but obediently begins to eat the thin slices. “So, you wanna work with my dad or me?” Stiles asks him.

 

Derek cuts off a large size bite with his fork as he considers Stiles’ question. “What did you mean by ‘playing mediator?’”

 

He pops the bite into his mouth and chews on it slowly as he observes Stiles. Most of the man’s attention is locked on Meg, but he answers Derek easily, “Dad said you could give me the information he needs to find Laura, but I could come with you when you talk to him.” It’s only then that Stiles’ gaze rises to meet his own. They’re open and earnest--honest in a way Derek hasn’t found directed at in a long while. “If you want me too. If you want to talk to Dad on your own, I totally get that too.”

 

The thought of a familiar face being there soothes most of his worries. It must show because Stiles’ expression softens, lips rising in a half grin. “You want me there?” Stiles asks.

 

Derek nods, “I’d appreciate that.”

 

“Great! When do you wanna do this?” Stiles asks, plucking a tissue out of the nearby box before using it to wipe the tomato sauce off Meg’s face.

 

For a moment Derek gets lost in the moment, watching Stiles and Meg. It’s a sweet, simple little moment between a father and daughter. Nothing special about it. But incredibly heart warming. “Whenever you’ve got time,” Derek answers eventually.

 

“All done, baby?” Stiles asks Meg, stroking her cheek before nodding toward the living room. “Why don’t you go pick out a movie? Derek or I will come put it on for you.”

 

A grin splits her face. She’s off her chair and on her feet in the blink of an eye. Another blink and she’s racing into the other room. Stiles shakes his head, mirroring the amusement Derek feels.

 

“Wall-E,” Stiles says suddenly.

 

Derek looks away from where Meg is staring the DVD’s down. “What?”

 

Stiles gestures with his eyes toward Meg, hands busily stacking the dirty plates up. “She’s gonna pick Wall-E. She’s in a robot phase these days, in case you haven’t noticed.”

 

Come to think of it, he _had_ seen many different robot toys in the girl’s room. He hadn’t thought much of it. Okay, maybe some mild envy for the Gundam figurines Meg has, but that’s about it. He shakes his head, right as Meg bounds up holding up the Wall-E DVD for Stiles to see.

 

Barely holding his amusement in, Stiles accepts the DVD. But only after he shoots Derek a meaningful glance. “Wall-E it is.”

 

\----

 

They decide to meet with the Sheriff on the weekend, three days later.

 

In the days that lead up to Sunday, Derek pitches in and makes himself useful by making lunch and dinner every day. Makes sure to work out _after_ he’s closed the blinds, lest someone else spy on him. He’s bored enough to do a couple of loads of laundry _and_ put them away, something that makes Stiles pull a complicated expression between happiness and annoyance.

 

Friday night, Scott and his son show up for dinner. Derek’s napping in his wolf form, having nothing better to do as he waits for Stiles and Meg to go home. He’s listening to the stew merrily bubbling away, when the front door opens. He sleepily listens in, wondering who the boyish voice belongs too. Padding out to investigate, Derek finds himself being introduced to Scott’s son, Jordan. The boy is shyer than Meg, shaking his head when Scott asks if he wants to pet Derek. He keeps shooting furtive glances at Derek, like he can’t believe the ease with which Meg and the others are interacting with him.  

 

It’s a casual dinner, the purpose of which revealing itself when Scott so _casually_ asks about Stiles’ new boyfriend. “The one Mrs. Robbins said looks like a total hunk.” Scott teases. Stiles flushes and mumbles about how Derek has to work tonight. Derek’s not sure how he feel about the whole matter so he slinks out the doggie door and stays on the porch till the McCall’s leave.

 

On Saturday, they drive down to the library to get Meg some new books to read. Derek sits in the back seat, shifted in his wolf form because he figures he’ll get less awkward questions that way. Stiles sits in the car, watching as he escorts Meg in, tail wagging. Derek follows her through the aisles, ignoring the surprised looks they get as they walk up to the desk. The librarian gives him an odd look but she doesn’t say anything as she hands Meg her library card and newly checked out story books back. Meg buries her nose in one of the book as soon as Stiles has strapped her in, narrating the story haltingly in her high voice with occasional corrections from Stiles’ side.

 

The sense of being in the eye of the hurricane really hits him on Saturday night. It feels so incredibly domestic to be putting around the kitchen while Stiles and Meg start reading the Hobbit. It feels like being in a home again. Derek freezes the second the thought hits him. It’s been too long since he’s felt so at peace _anywhere_. Laura and him have been on the run for so long that he didn’t think he’d ever feel like this ever again.

 

“You okay?” Stiles asks, pulling Derek out of his thoughts.

 

Derek nods stiffly and bends down to stick the chicken into the oven. He reminds himself that this is only temporary. He can’t let his guard down. Just because it’s been a peaceful week doesn’t mean he should be complacent.

 

As Sunday dawns, Derek puts on the last clean shirt Stiles loaned him--an orange and blue striped _monstrosity_ \--over a pair of dark sweats before going downstairs. He sits on the couch arm and listens to Stiles cajol Meg into dressing up to meet her grandpa before Stiles comes down as well, grumpy looking daughter on his hip.

 

“Lets get this show on the road.” Stiles sighs, looking bone tired even though it’s only eleven.

 

The drive over to the Sheriff’s home is uneventful. Meg sulks the entire ride over, still unhappy that Stiles hadn’t allowed her to have ice cream and chocolate for breakfast. Stiles grinds his teeth and mutters darkly about “idiot drivers who wouldn’t know what a turn signal is even if it hit ‘em in the face,” while Derek keeps his eyes peeled for _any_ sign of Laura. At one point he thinks he sees the Camaro, but it’s a false alarm.

 

As a result, Derek’s in a bit of a foul mood as well by the time they pull up into the Sheriff’s driveway. “Okay,” Stiles begins, “one last time. You’re good with this, right?”

 

Shooting the human a glare, Derek answers by jerkily throwing the door open and stepping out. He tries not to think about how the sound of the flip flops slapping against concrete destroys his angry exit.

 

“Okay then. Good talk,” Stiles mutters from behind him. “Meg, need some help there, baby?”

 

Derek keeps his eyes down, counting how many steps it takes for him to walk up to the door. Once there, he examines the door. It’s a nice door, as far as doors go. He’s looking around for a doorbell when he hears Stiles and Meg climb up the steps. At the same time, he hears someone walking up to the door. Derek immediately throws his shoulders back, ready to face the Sheriff and get the show on the road.

 

Only, instead of the Sheriff, Derek finds himself staring into a different but familiar face.

 

“Scott?” Stiles asks from behind him, voice high in disbelief. “The hell you doing here?”

 

Beaming, the man replies, “I thought I’d surprise you! It’s been awhile since we got together for lunch, so I thought we’d drop by.” His eyes flick to Derek for a split second before returning to Stiles. “And I _really_ wanted to meet your new boyfriend.”

 

The _noise_ Stiles makes in response to that is... indescribable. It’s a cross between a squeak and gasp. Very mousey.

 

“He’s not my boyfriend!” Stiles sighs, like it’s something he’s been denying repeatedly for a while now.

 

Scott ignores him, holding his hand out towards Derek, “Scott McCall. I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s nice to finally be able to put a name to the face.”

 

“Likewise,” he offers in return, nearly falling forward when Meg pushes her way forward.

 

“Is Jordan here too?” Meg asks Scott, already fighting to free herself from her dad.

 

Scott takes a step back, “In the kitchen.”

 

The trio watch Meg run off, exchanging a little smile when they hear Jordan happily shout, “Meg’s here!”

 

With a small sigh-laugh, Stiles points down the hallway, “I’ll go keep an eye on them. Dad’ll probably be out in a minute to meet you.”

 

Sure enough, the Sheriff walks out of the kitchen less than a minute later. He pats Stiles’ back with a warm smile before heading over to the front door where Derek continues to hover.

 

“Come on in, Derek,” the Sheriff greets before nodding at Derek. “Let him in Scott.”

 

Scott points at Derek, eyes comically wide. “His name is Derek? Did Stiles name the dog after you, or did he meet you after saving that dog? This is too weird! Who has a boyfriend and their dog sharing a name?”

 

“That’s what I said,” the Sheriff sighs as walks deeper into the house.

 

“Who said what?” Stiles asks from the kitchen doorway.

 

Scott points at Derek, “I said it’s too weird your boyfriend and your dog have the same name.”

 

“Why do you keep insisting Derek’s my boyfriend?”

 

“‘cuz he _is_ your boyfriend?” Scott snarks.

 

The Sheriff sighs deeply, shooting Derek a weary look, “Come on into the kitchen, son. Lets help you out before we get dragged into this..”

 

Nodding, he follows the Sheriff but keeps one ear on Scott and Stiles’ conversation.

 

“Derek’s not my boyfriend!”

 

“Thats not what I heard!”

 

“What the hell _have_ you heard?”

 

“That you’ve been shacking up with a really hot dude that’s a little out of your league.”

 

“Dude!” Stiles exclaims, clearly offended.

 

“You asked.”

 

The Sheriff gestures at the small dining table and asks him to take a seat. “Just let me go get my notebook and we can get started. That good?”

 

Derek nods and goes back to eavesdropping.

 

Stiles makes an odd growling noise. “Who the hell told you all that, anyway?”

 

“Uh, well. You know your neighbor, Mrs. Penny? She told Charlotte, who told Lydia, who told Allison about your new guy.”

 

“I _knew_ that the women’d been spying on me!”

 

In a confused tone, Scott asks, “Wait, so you’re not dating him?”

 

“For the last time,” Stiles declares, “I’m not dating Derek! I’m just letting him stay with me for a while. Man, I seriously hate the rumor mill in this damn town. I thought Mrs. Robbins was bad enough but Mrs. Penny too? Ugh!”

 

There’s a tiny pause before Scott asks, in a tone more confused than before. “Wait. So, you named the dog after a guy you’re helping out and isn’t your boyfriend?”

 

Stiles groans. “It was a coincidence. Meg picked out the dog’s name.”

 

“And where _is_ the dog?”

 

“Uuuh. Out. On a walk. With a dog walker. ‘cuz I thought he might be underfoot.”

 

Derek tunes out Scott’s sad whining when the Sheriff returns, pad and pen in hand. Scott and Stiles’ voices trails away as they enter the living room and sit down with their kids. It’s a comforting white noise that helps settle Derek’s nerves, but he still can’t quite help clenching his hands into fists under the table.

 

“Let’s start with the basics,” the Sheriff says as he sits down, flipping his pad open to a fresh page. “Tell me what happened.”

 

A voice in his head, one that sounds remarkably like Stiles, tells him to stay calm and repeat the story just like he rehearsed with Stiles last night. So he licks his lips and begins.

 

Derek tells the Sheriff everything--about the ambush that happened just over ten days ago, splitting up with Laura, being hit by the truck, Stiles and Meg’s rescue and offer of help, and how he’s worried someone might be holding Laura hostage given his inability to reach her on her cell.

 

The Sheriff observes him quietly, eyes clear and without judgement as Derek haltingly explains, “I need to find my sister. I need to make sure she’s okay. I haven’t been able to reach her since...”

 

“We’ll do our best,” the man reassures him. “I’m going to need some information, though. Her description, the car’s, a contact number. Is her cell still on?”

 

Derek raises one shoulder up in a heavy shrug. “I don’t know. All my messages went to voice mail.”

 

The Sheriff scribbles something down, frowning. “It’s still worth a shot. Lets start with the car.”

 

He answers every question the Sheriff throws at him as honestly as he can. Describing the car and Laura are the easiest parts of the conversation. Derek rattles off as many details as he can, hoping that even the smallest piece of information might help the police. He’s actually feeling hopeful by the time he’s done. And also incredibly thirsty.

 

“Could I get some water?” He asks the Sheriff.

 

Derek watches the man get up to comply. The Sheriff walks up to a cupboard, pulls two glasses out and then moves to pull a water bottle out of the fridge. He walks back to the table, pauses as he puts the glasses down, looking strangely hesitant. Derek can’t help but tense up as he watches the Sheriff silently fill a glass out before pushing it in Derek’s direction.

 

“I hope you don’t take offence to what I’m going to ask next,” the Sheriff begins in a gentle voice. “You and your sister, you came back to pay your respects to your family, didn’t you?”

 

A chill goes through Derek. His fingers tighten around the glass, heart racing as his throat constricts and tongue dries out.

 

“How did you know that?” he growls, wondering if he hasn’t accidentally walked into a trap. It takes _every_ scrap of self control in him not to flash his eyes at the human, lunge across the table, and slam the Sheriff into the wall.

 

“You told me. Laura _Hale_. You said you come to Beacon Hills once a year to take care of ‘family business.’” The Sheriff gives him a faint, sad smile. “It wasn’t that hard to put together.”

 

Derek deflates immediately, fingers loosening as abruptly as they’d tightened. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

 

Pouring himself a glass, the human shrugs. “Nothing to apologize for. You should have said so from the start.”

 

“I didn’t think it was important,” Derek admits, rolling the glass around on the table. The base of the glass makes a heavy, comforting noise as Derek moves it over the table top. “We’ve been gone for so long. I didn’t think anyone remembered us anymore.”

 

Making an understanding noise, the Sheriff asks, “How many years has it been?”

 

“Almost ten,” Derek answers.

 

The Sheriff’s eyes go soft in understanding and sorrow, but he doesn’t say anything. No empty words of comfort, no declarations about how great a person his mom was, no expression of sympathy for his loss. Just a simple look which says, ‘I understand your loss.’ It’s nice--not being pitied for losing almost his entire family.

 

When the man _does_ break the silence that’s settled between them, it’s a question. “Is Laura the only family you have?”

 

The question is said so gently, like the Sheriff didn’t want to hurt Derek in any way. But it stings regardless. Because--

 

“Yes,” Derek answers, swallowing hard before he drains his glass. Laura is the only family he has left. He doesn’t know what he’d do if he lost her.

 

He’s yanked out of his melancholic thoughts when Jordan screeches, “Mom’s back!” and runs away, racing away to the door. Meg shouts, “Auntie Allison!” and runs away too. Derek hears Scott tell the kids to slow down, but it doesn’t appear to affect their speed. Stiles lets out a resigned sigh before saying, “You tried.”

 

Derek misses Scott’s reply as a snort comes from the other side of the table, causing him to turn back toward the Sheriff. “I guess we’re done then. I’ve got all I need,” the man says, snapping his notepad shut. “I’ll call you if there’re any developments.”

 

Derek automatically mirrors the Sheriff as they stand simultaneously. He feels a tiny bit lost as they walk into the living room but oddly light at heart like a burden’s been lifted off his shoulders.

The Sheriff is talking with Scott while Stiles stands near the doorway, talking with a dark haired woman who is half bent over the kids who have attached to her like limpets. Her broad smile is just like Jordan’s, which makes Derek guess she’s the boy’s mother.

 

Noticing Derek, she looks up at him. Blinks. And full out beams. Tensing automatically, Derek tells himself not to flinch when Allison walks up to him and holds out her hand.“You must be Stiles’ new boyfriend,” she declares happily, giving Derek’s hand a warm shake before grinning at Stiles. “Your neighbors said you guys were close, but I didn’t believe her! Don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but you take a lot of time to warm up to someone.”

 

Stiles looks as lost (and comically upset) as Derek feels. “Allison,” Stiles chokes, “He’s not my boyfriend!”

 

Derek glances at the open window across the room and wonders if he can make a strategic retreat. How many more times are they going to go through this charade? It’s kind of mortifying.

“But...” Allison’s puzzled gaze sweeps over Derek’s form before returning to Stiles. “He’s wearing your clothes. Weren’t you the one who said that was the ultimate form of-”

 

Stiles lets out a garbled noise which has the Sheriff sighing. “Derek just...didn’t have any clothes, so I lent him some.”

 

“How did he not have any clothes?” Scott asks from behind Stiles.

 

Stiles whips around to glare at Scott, clearly unhappy that he’s being questioned. “Because his clothes got all muddied up thanks to Derek.”

 

Kinking an eyebrow up, Allison asks, “He rolled out in some mud?”

 

“Not him!” Stiles gestures wildly at Derek. “The dog I’m looking after for Isaac! He rolled around in some mud and got Derek’s clothes all muddy so he didn’t have any clothes to wear!”

 

The woman makes a time-out gesture. “Wait, I’m confused. You named the dog after the guy you’re letting stay with you?”

 

Stiles’ fingers twitch by his side, arms raising up a few inches before falling back down against his hips. “I give up,” he declares tiredly to the ceiling.

 

“That’s what you get for giving the dog and your man the same name,” the Sheriff points out.

 

“Not his man,” Derek interrupts quietly, right as Stiles moans, “Not my boyfriend!”

 

Allison hands a few take out bags over to Scott, grin returning when she says, “If you want people to think that, then you guys _need_ to stop sharing clothes.”

 

Stiles, very maturely, sticks his tongue out in response.

 

\----

 

Lunch, thankfully, goes off without a hitch. It feels a little strange for a stranger like Derek to be sitting in on what is essentially a family lunch, but Stiles feels like it’s the kind of strange he can get used to. He’s a little bit sad Melissa hadn’t been able to make it, but they _had_ made plans pretty abruptly. On the other hand, it’s one less person telling Derek embarrassing stories about him.

 

Scott waves an impatient hand at Allison, who is already giggling into her hand. “Wait, wait! I’m getting to the best part! So I come out, baseball bat up, ready to hit whoever’s trying to break in, and _Stiles_ drops down in front of me!”

 

“To the ground?” Derek asks, eyes shooting between Scott and Stiles.

 

Stiles grumbles into his plate, “My foot got stuck in a vine or something.”

 

“He was _hanging_ upside down from the porch roof in front of me!” Scott laughs. “I yelled so loud I woke mom up! And when she found out Stiles was _drunk_? Lets just say Stiles didn’t try to drink and break into my room after that!”

 

He grumbles into his plate about backstabbing best friends who aren’t gonna get a nice Christmas present this year, but Scott--the traitor--keeps on laughing. It’s not that he _minds_ the others telling these stories. It’s just that Stiles doesn’t want his image to be tarnished in front of Derek. He’d been a klutzy, abrasive _loser_ in high school. That’s not how he wants Derek to see him.

 

Speaking of which. Derek is staring at him questioningly. “Why didn’t you just ring the doorbell or call Scott to open the door for you?” the man asks, looking _ridiculous_ in the stretched out orange and blue shirt and sweats. Stiles should not feel a smile tugging his lips up.

 

He makes a mock disgusted face. “What would be the fun in that?” he replies.

 

It’s Meg who chimes in, thrusting her fork up in the air, “‘No fun’ is no fun you want to have!”

  
“That’s my kid.” Stiles grins proudly, leaning over to ruffle her hair.

 

All things considered, it’s a nice lunch. A little more quiet than their usual get togethers, but still nice. Stiles feels more than a little proud when he notes how relaxed Derek is by the end of it.

 

Derek tenses up a little when the Sheriff clasps a hand on his shoulder and says, “I’ll call you later, alright? Take care of yourself.” But the nod Derek gives in return is easy and relaxed. Stiles might be imagining it, but he thinks he sees some trust in Derek’s eyes.However, Derek’s relaxed state only lasts so long.

 

Because the days pass. One day turns to two. Two to three. And no call comes in about Laura. Derek’s mood darkens the longer there’s no word about Laura. He bangs the pots and pans around while cooking. Growls a lot more when he’s human. Is positively snappish.

 

Stiles calls the station a couple of times but every time, there’s nothing to tell. He’s told that they’re ‘looking into it’. ‘We’re canvassing the neighborhood’, ‘We’re waiting for her to turn her cell on so we can try and track her’. And one memorable ‘Sorry son. Another case came up. Had to drive out of town to pick someone up.’

 

Stiles sighs every time, reminds them to call him the second they have something and hangs up. He resigns himself to living with an increasingly grumpy house made who toes the ‘rude’ line. And Stiles can deal with that. He really can. Whenever Derek snarks at him, Stiles just snarks back. He’s the rubber to Derek’s wall. And it’s something Stiles can tolerate so long as Derek’s foul mood doesn’t extend to Meg.

 

Until it does.

 

Meg shouts, “I hate this!” from the kitchen before running away. Her feet thud against the staircase, the sound of them softening to nothing. But there’s no missing the loud slamming of her bedroom door though. Stiles closes his eyes and tells himself to count to ten and back instead of scolding Derek for acting like a brat. Even if Stiles feels like Derek deserves a good scolding.

 

After a couple of breathing exercises, Stiles feels calm enough to hold an adult conversation with Derek. He puts his laptop down on the sofa, pinches the bridge of his nose, and sighs before getting up. Walking into the kitchen, Stiles locks his gaze on the man who is _glaring_ at the kettle resting on the stove top.

 

“Stare any harder and the water is gonna boil over,” Stiles quips.

 

He sighs when his words cause Derek’s glare _to deepen_. Stiles is certain if Derek glares any harder, his eyebrows are going to turn into a thick unibrow on his face. Shaking his head, Stiles sits down on the table with Derek. He notes how Derek is refusing to meet his eye, causing him to assume that Derek knows what he just did was wrong.

 

“We need to talk about what just happened,” Stiles begins firmly, noting the little twitch that goes through Derek, “and your attitude. Look. Derek. I can’t even begin to understand how you feel, but you can’t keep doing this, okay? You can’t keep acting like we’re the bad guys. We’re trying to help you.”

 

Derek’s shoulders stiffen further. Stiles is surprised he doesn’t hear anything crack. Derek crosses his arms over his chest and mutters, “I know that.”

 

There's a mild touch of _something_ under those words that has Stiles’ scowling.

 

“Do you? Really? ‘cause from where I’m sitting, it doesn’t look like it. You’re acting like I’m holding you hostage.” He gestures toward the door, palm open in invitation. “The door’s right there. If you don’t like the way things are, feel free to leave. Nothing is holding you back.”

 

Stiles has to bite his tongue and pause because his tone has gotten more harsh than he wanted. As a result, Derek looks worse than ever before. He looks one wrong word away from bolting. It reminds Stiles a lot of a scared, cornered animal.

 

So he pauses, regroups, and decides to try again. “I get it’s really frustrating not...not hearing anything about your sister. I really do get that. But it’s really unfair to take that out on us. To take that out on _Meg_. She’s just a kid. She doesn’t get why you’re lashing out the way you are.”

 

Like a puppet whose strings have been cut, Derek sags immediately. His shoulders drop, crossed arms loosening until his palms fall open in his lap. “I know.” The werewolf sighs, dragging a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. It’s just...hard.”

 

Stiles hands itch to grab Derek’s hands and squeeze. He wants to comfort Derek in some way, _any_ way. But there’s a table between them. It’s just an arms reach away. But with the defeated air surrounding Derek, it might as well be a chasm.

 

So Stiles nods sympathetically. “I get that. Just don’t take it out on Meg. She doesn’t understand it, you know?”

 

He’s debating how to ask Derek to apologize when the man beats him to the punch.

 

“I’ll go apologize to her,” Derek says as he stands up, face determined.

 

Unable to stop himself, Stiles waves his hands in a desperate attempt to make Derek stop because there’s something else he’s been meaning to talk to Derek about. Thankfully, his animated gestures _are_ enough to give Derek pause.

 

Stiles clears his throat and pretends his face _isn’t_ heating up in utter mortification. “I, uh, wanted to talk to you about something else too.”

 

A constipated expression crosses the older man’s face. “If it’s about yesterday, I’m sorry I forgot to close the blinds after you’d left. Your neighbor saw me moving around and waved at me.”

 

“That explains the looks I got,” Stiles says to himself before shaking his head. “No, it’s not about that.”

 

He’s resigned himself to having people coming up to him and congratulate him on landing a “hottie” like Derek. It’s easier to just roll with the whole situation. It really doesn’t help that Derek’s been wearing his clothes too. But Stiles can’t afford a shopping trip for a guest. He feels bad about it, yes, but Stiles can’t help it. He figures it’ll garner sympathy votes for Derek, making people work harder to find Laura.

 

“It’s about the living situation we got going on.”

 

Derek stiffens and asks, “What about it?”

 

Quickly, before Derek assumes Stiles is kicking him out, Stiles explains, “I was thinking it’s been getting pretty cold at night, so you should sleep indoors. The couch is pretty comfy. Or we can drop a couple of blankets somewhere if you like to sleep all wolfy.”

 

Derek quirks an eyebrow up and Stiles just _knows_ Derek knows the weather is a complete bullshit excuse. Which it is. Whatever. He feels bad seeing Derek out every night. The slight twinge of guilt he’d felt after seeing wolf Derek sniffing around the porch before lying down on top of the steps has now blown into a full guilt parade.

 

“I’d feel better knowing you were indoors. Not that I don’t appreciate the way you patrol the house at night.” There’s a flash of surprise in Derek’s eyes which causes Stiles to explain, “I got up one night to go to the bathroom and I saw you walking around. I thought you might have been having trouble sleeping, but I noticed you doing that a couple of other nights too. You don’t have to do that.”

 

Derek shakes his head. “You can never be too careful when hunters are involved.”

 

Right. Stiles keeps forgetting that. He bites his bottom lip, worries it between his teeth before glancing up at Derek who is staring at him keenly.

 

“What?” Stiles asks .

 

Stiles feels a little bit disappointed when Derek shakes his head and answers, “Nothing,” before standing up. “I’ll go talk with Meg. Tell her I’m sorry for hurting her feelings.”

 

“You do that.” Stiles remains seated, watching Derek walk out of the kitchen.

 

He props his head up on an open palm and tries not to sigh when he realizes Derek is wearing his clothes. It’s not a problem, per say. The thing is, his dad and Scott have donated some clothes too. But for some reason, Derek keeps wearing Stiles’ stuff. Some items clearly being too small for Derek, but...he stares at the way the soft sweats stretch around Derek’s ass and thinks, _‘That can’t be comfortable.’_

 

Once the sound of Derek’s footsteps fade away, Stiles decides it’s a good enough time to sneak another call to his dad and see if there’s any news about Laura’s case. Just to be on the safe side, he turns the dishwasher on and walks out onto the porch, hoping that the machine noise would be enough to throw Derek off.

 

Stiles plops down on the second porch step, socked heels pressing into the stiff grass as one hand braces him up while the other holds his cellphone to his ear. His eyes sweep around the backyard, wondering what’s the possibility of someone watching him right now.

 

The droning dial tone ringing in his ear cuts off midway, replaced by his father’s voice. “Sheriff Stilinski.”

 

“Hey, dad,” Stiles greets. “What’s up?”

 

“Stiles. Nothing much. Was just about to head upstairs.”

 

Upstairs? Stiles pulls the phone away to check the time. “Heading to bed a little early tonight, aren’t you?”

 

His dad sighs tiredly. “It’s been a bad day. I just want it to end already.”

 

A chill immediately goes down his spine, forcing him to sit up. “Is it Laura? Did you find her? Is she--” Stiles’ hoarse voice gives out, unable to say the words.

 

“No, it wasn’t Laura.”

 

Relief has never felt so sweet than it does in that moment. Stiles scrubs a hand over his face and tries to focus on what his dad is saying. “...had to arrest the guy. But he kept making trouble all the way to the station, threatening he was gonna kill his wife because she was cheating on him. If their kid hadn’t called us when he had...”

 

The way his dad trails off makes Stiles wish he were standing next to the older man. He sits up, presses his feet down onto the next step and hugs his knees instead of his dad because they’re the next best thing right now. “Were they hurt? The kid and the wife?”

 

“Pretty bad,” his dad’s tired voice makes Stiles’ grip tighten, “but they’re alive. So that’s a win.”

 

“You did good.”

 

Sheriff Stilinski hums tiredly. “Doesn’t feel like I did. Feels like I could have done more. Anyway, did you want to talk about something?”

 

Turning around to make sure Derek’s not behind him, or in the kitchen, Stiles asks in a low voice, “I wanted to ask if you’ve got any leads on Laura?”

 

A creaking noise comes from the other end of the line, followed by a grunt and a sigh. “Finally got a hit on her phone. But when we tracked it down, it was a dead end. The GPS coordinates led to this distillery just outside of town. We searched the whole place, but she wasn’t there. No car, no nothing.”

 

“Shit,” Stiles curses.

 

His dad makes an agreeing noise. “But we _did_ find a bunch of guys and a vehicle matching Derek’s description.” Stiles can’t help but sit up, shoulders tense as his dad speaks on. “There were four guys hogtied in one of the back offices. They were beat up pretty bad but nothing worse than a couple of broken ribs. We brought them in for questioning and they admitted they’d been holding Laura hostage. She got the drop on them somehow and managed to free herself, take down her kidnappers, and make a run for it.”

 

“That’s good news right?” Stiles asks.

 

“It’s not bad news, that’s for sure,” his dad answers. “The bright side is that she took her car, so if any of my deputies see it, they’ll talk to her.”

 

Stiles chuckles quietly. “They better approach her with caution if she’s the kind of girl who can take four grown men down. I don’t think one deputy’s gonna be much of a challenge..”

 

Snorting in amusement, the Sheriff replies, “I’ll tell ‘em that.”

 

“What’re you gonna do with the guys you found?” Stiles stretches his legs out, toes pointed out towards the tree line before relaxing them.

 

“Book ‘em. Ask Laura if she wants to press charges if we find her. Otherwise, I’ll have to ask Derek.”

 

Stiles frowns in confusion, “What do you mean, ‘if we find her?’”

 

His dad’s sigh is long and frustrated. “The distillery thing happened yesterday. But there’s no sign of Laura _anywhere_ in town. That’s damn impossible given how flashy a sports car is.”

 

That’s a good point, and also kind of depressing. “She’s hiding,” Stiles concludes tiredly.

 

“Yep,” his dad agrees, “and she doesn’t have a cell on her either. Parrish found a smashed phone on the site. It looked like someone even tried to burn the SIM card too. All we can do right now is keep an eye out for her.”

 

Groaning, Stiles rubs his forehead into his knees. He listens to the very faint sound of his dad breathing on the other end of the line before mumbling, “At least she’s still alive. That’s good.”

 

“Tell Derek to swing by the station tomorrow. I was gonna call him tomorrow and ask him to come in.”

 

Stiles finds himself nodding. “Will do. Thanks, dad.”

 

“Anytime, kiddo.”

 

He hangs up first, staring at his phone until the screen dims. Inhaling deeply, Stiles pushes himself up to his feet before turning around. Only to flail so hard in surprise at the sight of Derek just standing there in the back doorway, arms crossed menacingly. Stiles finds himself stumbling back, foot slipping off the porch step.

 

“Stiles!”

 

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, anticipating a great amount of pain to shoot through him, but two strong hands grip his wrists tightly and jerk him forward. All the air in his lungs wooshes out when he smacks into something hard, arms squeezed between his chest and this mysterious hard surface. His forehead crashes into something pointy, scratchy and hard, making him yelp in pain.

 

“Ow!” he whines, eyes flying open. His cheek is smooshed painfully against...Derek’s chest. Stiles is currently being held against Derek’s chest. He quickly realizes his feet are kind of tangled around the ankles and it’s only Derek’s arms around him that’re keeping him upright. Just as swiftly, Stiles realizes Derek smells kind of nice. Clean, the nice kind of sweat smell and a faint hint of deodorant Stiles uses. Also surprising is learning that, despite being a wall of muscles, Derek is surprisingly soft under Stiles’ hands. And warm. It’s a dizzying combination.

 

“Sorry,” Derek grunts, slowly stepping back and taking Stiles with him. Stiles’ feet bang against the top step, causing him to let out a few choice curse words. “Sorry,” Derek apologizes again.

 

Sighing, Stiles finally stands on his own two feet and rubs the throbbing point on his forehead with one hand, his other resting on Derek’s chest. _Jesus_ , his head hurts! “S’alright. What the hell did I hit my head on? Oh shit, was it your face? Are you okay?”

 

His hands fly up to touch Derek’s stubbled cheeks, ignoring the pounding in his skull, fingertips searching for a weak spot or a bruise he may have left. He searches around the chin area, wincing when he touches the sore spot and causes Derek’s face to twitch. “Shit. Sorry. You’re okay, right? You want me to get your some ice? I think we’ve got a packet of frozen peas in the freezer.”

 

Derek cuts him off with a look. “Stiles. I’m okay.”

 

“You sure?” He searches Derek’s pale eyes intently. And pauses when he processes how the low light is making Derek’s eyes look almost silver. Derek looks... Stiles feels his heart rate pick up for some reason, butterflies bursting into life inside his stomach. His face and his hands heat up so much Stiles is worried he’s caught a fever. And then there’s the way Derek is looking at him--so focused and worried.

 

His tongue feels like it’s swollen twice it’s size and dried up at the same time. Stiles swallows uselessly before croaking out, “‘Cuz I’ve got a pretty hard head. I mighta cracked your jaw.” Which Stiles dizzily realizes is a very nice jaw. Good and strong, covered with seriously nice stubble. It’s artful really. And soft, did he mention that part? Because it is so nicely _soft_ under... his... hands. _Shit,_ pretty much petting Derek’s face.

 

Mortified, Stiles takes his hands back and takes a step back. Yet again, Derek’s hand comes to grab his wrist. “I _just_ stopped you from falling down those stairs,” the werewolf growls, pulling Stiles into the house. “Just come inside already before you break your neck.”

 

“Unfair,” Stiles argues weakly, staring down at where Derek’s holding him. It’s a nice feeling knowing Derek cares enough about him to save him from hurting himself. He may or may not do a tiny hip wriggle of delight.

 

The good feeling lasts through Derek pushing him down on the couch. “Can you _try_ not killing yourself now?” Derek asks, arms crossed and one eyebrow quirked up challengingly.

 

Stiles opens his mouth to suggest that maybe Derek should keep an eye on him all night long if he’s that worried. But that would sound like he’s flirting with Derek. Right? It throws him a little off balance, this intense urge to flirt. But uncertainty keeps his words in check. Does Derek even want him to flirt with him? Is Derek even into guys? What’s a good, casual way to ask a near complete strange slash housemate through strange circumstances if they’re interested in dick? Has Stiles even casually dropped the fact he’s bi into any conversation with Derek? Holy shit, he’s so giving himself a headache now.

 

So Stiles shoves the urge away, opting to change the topic altogether. Elbows resting on his thighs, Stiles leans forward and asks, “How much did you overhear back there?”

 

The faint edge of mirth that had been shining behind Derek’s eyes is smothered immediately. His gaze lowers, shoulders lowering just so. “Enough.”

 

Stiles rolls his eyes at the non-answer. “Try again. How much did you overhear?”

 

There’s a clear moment of hesitation before Derek reluctantly admits, “Everything.”

 

“Eavesdropping is a terrible habit,” Stiles chides before patting the seat next to him. “I assume you heard that part where my dad wants to talk to you in person.”

 

Another moment of hesitation. Derek stares at the spot Stiles is patting before carefully unfolding his arms and sitting down. “I did.” Derek says, “I’ll wait for him to call, and then I’ll go.”

 

Stiles frowns when he realizes he’ll have the Jeep. “I can tell dad to send a car to pick you up.”

 

But Derek shakes his head. “I’ll figure something out.”

 

“You sure?” Stiles asks, pulling his knee up before turning his body towards Derek. “It’s no problem. There’s a couple of perks being the Sheriff’s kid, you know. One of them is calling in a favor or two at the station. I’m sure Parrish won’t mind.”

 

Derek shakes his head, reclining back into the couch. “No. I’ll wait for your dad to call. If he wants me to come in tomorrow, I’ll just lock up the house and run to the station.”

 

“Kinda hard to run in flip flops, dude...” Stiles points out, shooting the footwear in question a hard, amused look. He’s got an elbow on the back of the couch now, arm crooked so that he can rest his head against his fist.

 

The werewolf looks at his shoes as well before snorting. “I mean I’ll run there as a wolf.”

 

Blinking his surprise, Stiles’ head jerks up, leaving his hand hanging there mid air. “Seriously? Isn’t that gonna be dangerous?” he asks in alarm.

 

“They’ve already caught the hunters.” Derek shrugs. “If I stick to sneaking through the backyards, I can make it close to the station, change, and walk the rest of the way. I just have to pack a change of clothes in a bag.”

 

An evil idea _immediately_ pops up in his head. Keeping his wicked grin off his face is near impossible when he says, “I’ve got the perfect bag for you.”

 

\----

 

Derek _glares_ at the Spongebob Squarepants bag he’s stuffing his clothes back into. Last night, as soon as Stiles had said he had an appropriate bag for Derek’s clothes, Derek had gotten a bad feeling. That _grin_ Stiles had given him? Had ‘bad idea’ written _all_ over it. And when he’d seen Stiles struggling to hold his laughter back the next morning, that bad feeling got worse.

 

It had naturally peaked when Stiles had gently pushed Meg forward, the girl holding something behind her back, saying, “Give Derek his new bag, baby.”

 

And then Meg pulled the yellow and blue atrocity out. Derek glared, unimpressed at Stiles and Meg’s laughing forms, the pair laughing harder when they caught sight of Derek’s unhappy expression. Their giggles are still ringing in his ears.

 

“I packed the clothes for you,” Stiles had said in between his chuckles.

 

Meg had pointed at the front pocket, happily telling Derek, “I packed some snacks for you too! In case you get hungry!”

 

Wondering what the girl has packed for him, Derek sits down with his back against the tree, slowly scanning the area around him once last time to make sure no one’s around. The last thing he needs is for someone to walk in on him, naked and holding a kid’s bag. Derek wouldn’t even know where to _begin_ talking himself out of that situation. But thankfully there’s nothing about except for the sound of the wind rustling through the trees, bugs buzzing around, and birds flitting and singing.

 

Satisfied he’s alone, the werewolf tucks the bag between his crossed legs and opens the front pocket. Inside he finds a packet of chips, a smushed sandwich packed in a ziplock bag, a small juice pack, and trail mix. He starts with the sandwich, devouring the two triangles in a few greedy bites before moving on to the chips. Those Derek takes his time with.

 

As he slowly munches on the snack, Derek thinks back on the conversation he’s just had with the Sheriff. Laura is alive, but there’s been no sign of her entering town. There’s no way to track her. All the police can do is keep an eye out for her. Derek carefully bites a large chip in half and chews on it thoughtfully. He _could_ try searching for her scent, but that comes with its own set of problems. There’s no way he can walk through town trying to catch her scent. There’s a lot of wooded area surrounding the town, too much for just one werewolf to cover.

 

Derek catches the crumbs at the bottom of the packet with his finger, scowling as he tries to guess what Laura’s plan must be. If he were in her place, he’d hunker down and hide somewhere in the forest. Wait for shit to blow over, heal, and then try to find his pack.

 

 _‘I guess I could ask Stiles if there’s any good places for a person to hide,’_ Derek ponders, stabbing the straw into the juice box. It’s better than just sitting around in the Stilinski home. Which isn’t to imply he just lounges around like a bum all day.

 

Derek helps out around the house as much as he can. He’s taken over laundry duty, completely exasperated with Stiles’ habit of leaving clean laundry all over the house _except_ in the drawers or closets where they belong. He 100 percent in charge of dinner now, allowing Stiles more time with his daughter. Some days he makes bagged lunches for Meg and Stiles.

 

There was the one day Stiles had made lunch and  then forgotten to take his to the office, so Derek had had to track Stiles down and deliver the tupperware container himself. He’d regretted walking into the office on two legs instead of four because several of Stiles’ co-workers had paused to eyeball him with open curiosity while Stiles had flailed and insisted Derek shouldn’t have gone to all the trouble.

 

Other than that, he keeps Meg company too. Meg likes him best when he’s a wolf, racing out into the backyard every evening to play while Stiles shouts at her to take it slow, tutting and muttering under his breath at his laptop. A few times she insists he stay in the room with Stiles, wait for her to fall asleep and make sure that the ‘monsters’ don’t get her. The first time he’d worried it might have been his fault but Stiles had quietly explained that she’d been a little freaked out about monsters coming out of her closet after she’d watched Monsters Inc. a few months ago.

 

It’s a nice routine, Derek admits, but it is in no way helping Laura or himself. He feels a stab of guilt thinking about how lax he’s been. While he’s been playing house with Stiles and Meg, his alpha, his _sister_ , was being held hostage by a group of hunters. Who knew _what_ they’d done to her. Laura’s probably hiding in some cave somewhere, badly hurt and wondering where the hell Derek is and why he hasn’t found her.

 

Jumping up to his feet the werewolf briskly gathers the trash and shoves it into the bag’s front pocket. He rolls his shoulders back and shifts before grabbing the bag straps with his teeth and starting his journey back.

 

As he jumps over backyard fences and slides through the dense foliage, he keeps his eyes and ears peeled for _any_ sign of Laura. But depressingly, there’s nothing. The Preserve is vast and he’s just one werewolf. As a result, his mood remains down for the rest of the day.

 

Later, Meg quietly asks him if he’s okay, eyes wide with worry. Derek can barely find the strength to give her a weak smile.

 

“That bad huh?” Stiles asks in a commiserating tone, vigorously rolling play-doh into different sized balls (as per Meg’s stern instructions).

 

Derek looks down, unable to find the strength to do their usual bantering. They’re sitting in Meg’s room, at the child size table that’s tucked against the wall. While Stiles’ responsibility has been making the play-doh balls, Derek’s been tasked with flattening them out into pancakes which Meg uses her different cutters to cut the soft material into different shapes and designs.

 

“Daddy, I need green. I wanna put green spots on the dog.” Meg demands, holding the green play dough out.

 

Stiles passes a medium sized ball over to Derek. “My dad didn’t have any leads?”

 

Half heartedly nodding at Meg, who is telling him to roll the plasticine out faster, Derek answers, “No. He asked me to think of any places Laura might go to hide. But I can’t think of any.”

 

Derek passes the flattened dough over to Meg, watching her carefully cut a few circles out. With the odd mix of gentleness and force most kids tend to handle their toys, Meg takes the required green pieces and gives her purple cut-out dog green spots.

 

“Pink please,” she chirps immediately.

 

Derek hands over an already flattened piece. A thoughtful hum from the other side of the table causes Derek’s attention to shift. For a moment he stares at Stiles, watching his hands swiftly rolling out ball after ball. His brain goes static blank as he stares at Stiles’ fingers, marvelling the speed and delicacy with which he’s handling the semi-hard material.

 

“Didn’t you guys used to have a house here?” Stiles asks, looking over the table before he leans forward to steal Derek’s plastic rolling pin. He immediately begins to roll a few balls out with the kind of confidence and ease that implies Stiles has done this many times before.

 

Before he gets lost in the shape and size of Stiles’ hands, something that’s been happening a little too often lately, Derek gruffly answers, “We used to, but the county tore it down. There’s just a memorial tree there.”

 

A part of him resents Laura for making that decision. Another part of him feels nothing but relief and peace. Most of him simply misses his home. While they’ve been living in New York for _years_ now, it has yet to feel home. It’s too different from where and how they grew up. In New York there’re too many strangers and even more stranger smells. There’s no true sense of pack-family (because they both are prideful Hales refusing to join any pack and wanting to expand on their own). And there had always been a warning voice growling in the back of his head, reminding him to always look over his shoulder and make sure he wasn’t being followed.

 

There’s only a low-key aching sensation that throbs inside of him on a daily basis. The pain of his lost pack peeks around the full moon when they run with the pack who had offered him and Laura safety.

 

Derek deeply misses his old home - the kitchen, his dad’s study, the backyard. He misses everything that used to annoy him so much. Like his family always being underfoot. His mother nagging him to put his shoes away. His dad’s tendency to ramble about the French Revolution at the drop of a hat. Not a day goes by where he doesn’t miss yelling at Cora, complaining to Peter about school, or being led down to the basement with everyone else around full mo--

 

His head shoots up with the memory, eyes widening. Stiles blinks at him, “What is it?”

 

“I think I know where Laura might be,” Derek admits. He stands up too fast, banging his knee against the table hard enough to jostle everything on it, causing Meg to yelp and Stiles to yell, “Whoa!”

 

“I need to go.”

 

“Whoa there, cowboy,” Stiles yells, scrambling up to his feet as well but Derek’s already half way across the room. Not that stops Stiles from hurriedly chasing after him.

 

Derek feels a strong hand grabbing his shirt and pulling. There’s a surprising amount of force behind the grip, and it’s that surprise which makes Derek pause. That pause is apparently too abrupt, because he feels Stiles bang into his back.

 

“Ow! Give a man some warning next time,” Stiles snaps from behind.

 

For a few seconds, Derek stands there facing the doorway, waiting for Stiles to let go of him. But instead he finds himself being turned around, Stiles’ hand hot against the crook of his arm. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Stiles asks him, voice high in disbelief.

 

“You used a bad word,” Meg whispers from her seat.

 

But Stiles ignores her, continuing to talk as his fingers squeeze Derek, “Tell me you weren’t thinking about going off on your own looking for Laura.”

 

Derek can’t stop himself from scowling angrily. “Not that it’s any of your business, but _yes_. I thought of a place where she might be hiding.”

 

He knows his words hit the mark when he sees hurt flash in Stiles’ eyes. But Stiles recovers quickly, gaze hardening as he stares Derek down. “It could be a trap for all you know. What if one of the hunters knows about this place too? Those guys refused to say anything about accomplices, and you have no idea how many people were after you. You could--”

 

“I’ll deal with them,” Derek snarls back, flashing his eyes for good measure. “I’m more than capable of taking care of myself. You don’t owe me anything so stop acting like you know me.”

 

Anger flares in Stiles’ brown eyes. Stiles’ jaw muscle jumps. Derek can hear him grinding his teeth together. He fully expects to be on the receiving end of a scathing comment, but Stiles remains quiet.

 

The silence drags out to an uncomfortable point, breaking only when Meg speaks up, “Daddy? Derek?”

 

Her voice shakes.

 

While Stiles is the one to turn away first, looking at his daughter, Derek feels like _he’s_ lost in some way.

 

“Yeah, baby?” Stiles asks gently, walking back to his daughter. Derek’s arm feels cool in the wake of Stiles’ touch.

 

The girl’s eyes are filled with unshed tears, cheeks blotchy with color. “‘re you and Derek fighting? Is Derek leaving?” she asks. Her eyes flit over to him for a second before returning to Stiles, corners wet with the promise of unshed tears.

 

He watches Stiles stroke Meg’s cheek, smiling reassuringly as he does so.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Derek’s feels like he just got kicked in the chest by a horse.

 

Stiles doesn’t seem to notice how he’s stolen the air out of Derek’s lungs. Instead he holds his hand out to Meg. “C’mon, lets go give you a bath. How does an extra bubbly bubble bath sound?”

 

Meg’s eyes shift to meet his again. They’re still filled with hesitant fear, but there’s no more tears there. “‘kay,” she agrees quietly, taking Stiles’ hand before following him out the room. “Bye, Derek.”

 

There’s not enough air in his lungs to return the words to her. Or enough strength in him to raise his arm and wave. This is it, Derek thinks to himself. He’s wondered a couple of times how and when he’s going to have to leave the Stilinski house, but Derek never thought he’d have to leave on such a bad note.

 

But the way Stiles just refused to meet his eye on his way out the room, makes Derek think Stiles isn’t interested in any kind of apology from him right now. Swallowing hard, Derek exhales and decides it’s time to go. He walks out into the hallway, making sure Stiles and Meg are in the bathroom before walking into Stiles’ room.

 

He strips with a military kind of precision, no movements wasted, folding the shirt and sweats untidily on the bed before shifting. On quiet wolf feet Derek pads downstairs. He forces himself to not look at the couch he’s only slept on. As Stiles had promised, it had been a little lumpy but comfortable - smelling of Meg and Stiles and many food accidents. It had been the closest things to a ‘home’ scent Derek had experienced in weeks. The thought that he has to leave it behind because of his own actions stings.

 

But there’s no changing things now.

 

As soon as he’s out of the house, Derek races through the shadows as fast and quietly as he can. He can’t help but chide himself as he runs.

 

How had he forgotten about the tunnels underneath the house? They were an excellent place for a wounded wolf to hide out. There’s a high possibility of Laura being there. She’s probably going to tear him a new one for not thinking of the tunnels right off the bat before scolding him again for not going there in the first place.

 

There isn’t a doubt in his mind, however, that Laura won’t be there. Derek’s entire being _sings_ at the thought of being reunited with his sister, his alpha, his pack again. He’ll get to hug her again and be scolded for taking so long. Get to sit with her and talk about what happened. Go back to being normal!

 

His hopes, which flew high as Icarus, come crashing down in the same way when he finds the hidden entrance to the tunnels and doesn’t smell Laura is soul crushing. He sniffs the entrance and the ground around it, over and over again, but there’s nothing. A thorough examination of the damp tunnels reveals the same thing - Laura isn’t here. She hasn’t been here at all. No one has.

 

The damp, musty smell of the tunnels clings to his nostrils long after Derek dejectedly has crawled back out into the woods. He takes his time sniffing around the memorial tree, meandering around the woods desperately hoping to catch _any_ hint of a scent. But there’s nothing. Derek catches the sound and scent of many creatures, but not Laura. The waxing moon has set by the time he drops down on his haunches and howls. He throws his head back and howls as long and as hard as he can, unable to express his sorrow any other way.

 

By the time he’s done, Derek feels dead tired. He knows he can’t go back to Stiles and Meg, but he finds himself slowly making his way back to the house, anyway. His brain is silent, offering no suggestions or answers as to his destination. His heart lies heavy inside his chest, weighing his spirits down and causing his feet to drag. Instead of thinking about why he’s doing this, Derek thinks about what he’s going to do when he returns.

 

If the lights are on, Derek will knock on the door and thank Stiles for all his help. He’ll also ask him to thank the Sheriff and Isaac for their help. Idly, he wonders what happened to that guy Isaac had talked about. What was his name again? Dalton? No, Deaton. He needs to at least thank Stiles properly for all his help.

 

In case Stiles isn’t awake, Derek will leave a thank you note and ask Stiles to say goodbye to Meg for him. Though he’s only spent a short while with the girl, he’s fallen a little bit in love with her - precociousness and all.

 

The closer Derek gets to the Stilinski residence, the more he’s sure that Stiles would have gone to bed. Which means he’ll have to break into the house through the kitchen window and leave a note. It’s what Derek wants to do, but he’d rather break in and write the thank you note instead of leave and have Stiles think of him as an ungrateful jerk.

 

Which is why the sight of the lights on comes as a complete surprise to Derek. He stares uncertainly at the single lighted window. It’s the living room light. But the blinds are drawn. Which means, from his position across the road, Derek can’t see inside the house. He can’t tell if Stiles forgot to turn the light off or if he’s actually awake.

 

So he crosses the road quickly, eyes and ears focused on the small house before him. With his ears trained on the inside of the house, Derek quietly pads his way into the backyard. He can hear two heartbeats. One of them is upstairs, while the other is coming from in front of him. Before he steps into the back lawn, Derek pauses and pays closer attention to the upstairs heartbeat. The slower rhythm, coupled with the soft rustling sounds that follow, forcing Derek to conclude that it’s Meg upstairs.

 

Which means Stiles is downstairs. Sitting somewhere near the kitchen. It can’t be that Stiles is waiting for him? Derek shakes his head almost immediately. That’s just wishful thinking. But his heart rises with hope anyway. His mood plummets just as quickly, remembering his harsh words. The memory of Stiles’ sad-angry eyes make Derek whine unhappily.

 

“Derek?” Stiles’ voice cuts through the silence. “Is that you?”

 

There’s no mistaking the hopeful lilt of the man’s voice, but shame keeps Derek rooted in place, hidden in the shadows. Unbidden, a guilty little whine echoes out of his throat.

 

“Derek?” Stiles asks again. There’s a scruffing sound, followed by a low ‘thud-thud’ of Stiles stepping down the porch steps. Derek can either stay in place and let Stiles find him, turn tail and run or...

 

Head hanging low, Derek dejectedly slips around the corner. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Stiles standing a few steps away from the house, bare feet sunk into the grass. His tail drags behind him as he slowly walks up to the human. Stiles is standing downwind, which means Derek can’t scent him and get a handle on what Stiles is feeling. He still feels ashamed of his behavior from before, so Derek doesn’t have the strength to raise his head.

 

All he knows is that if he would be angry if he were were in Stiles’ position. He’d be upset and want to lash out at whomever made him feel that way. He’d probably turn Stiles away if their positions were reversed. The thought of being scolded after the disappointment he’s experienced a little while ago makes Derek want to crawl on the ground in repentance. Anything to avoid hearing Stiles tell him he had been so wrong.

 

He slinks up to Stiles cautiously, sitting down in front the human. Derek stares at Stiles’ feet and feel nothing but misery. He’s surprised that Stiles’ doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t gloat, doesn’t yell, doesn’t tell him he should have known better than to go off half cocked. But Derek figures Stiles is only gathering steam for what’s going to be one hell of a lecture. Instead he’s taken by surprise when his view of pale feet is cut off by Stiles kneeling in front of him.

 

Before he realizes what’s going on, Derek is being hugged by Stiles. Strong arms hold him tightly against a toned chest as Stiles’ hands sink into his fur and curl up. And Stiles still doesn’t say anything. But the scent rolling off Stiles is enough to make Derek whine again, hurting so bad he wants to howl. Because that’s what Stiles smells like for some reason. Stiles smells of hurt, pain, and sadness. All mixing in with the ‘home’ scent that’s been like a balm to his aching soul. Derek shakes and butts his head into Stiles’ shoulder, pressing in until his muzzle is buried in the human’s armpit. Stiles’ hands slide up and down his back a few times before going back to holding him in a tight hug.

 

They stay like that for long minutes, Derek taking some much needed comfort from Stiles. When Stiles pulls away, he’s surprised to feel Stiles’ hands sliding up to cup his jaw. Derek tries to avert his eyes but Stiles follows easily, ducking his head to ensure that their eyes meet. The werewolf can’t help but cringe, wary of seeing censure in Stiles’ eyes. But there’s nothing but pained understanding and gentle sympathy in Stiles’ gaze.

 

“Come on,” Stiles finally says in a soft murmur. “It’s pretty late. We should go some sleep.”

 

Derek tentatively licks Stiles’ wrist in answer. He remains still as Stiles stands up, leaning against the human until he begins to walk inside. There’s a moment where he hesitates at the doorway, unsure if Stiles wants him sleeping inside.

 

But instead of slamming the door on him, Stiles holds it open and gestures for Derek to get in. “Couch’s ready for you.” Derek doesn’t exactly slink in, but his head and tail are pretty low as he follows Stiles to the couch.

 

As Stiles pulls the afghan off the back, Derek hops on the sofa and immediately curls up in the corner, nose and face buried underneath the pillow he’s been using. He closes his eyes when he feels the heavy cloth falling over him, and forces himself to not move when Stiles tucks the afghan around him, gently stroking his head along the way.

 

“Night, Derek,” the man murmurs before walking out of the room.

 

\----

 

Ever since Derek returned from his failed attempt to find Laura, he’s been acting...off. Call it an educated guess--because Derek’s not a talker--but Stiles is pretty sure that Derek’s depressed. Or swimming in an ocean of guilt, content to drown in his sorrows.

 

He’s been spending more and more time in his wolf shape than human--the complete opposite from before. That’s weird enough on it’s own, but there’s also the fact that Derek’s been acting kind of mopey. Not that Stiles claims to be any kind of expert in reading wolfish behavior, but Derek’s behavior has been _weird_.

 

He’s called Isaac for advice, but he’d waved it off as the heat getting to Derek. And during the much anticipated call from Dr. Deaton, Stiles gets the same advice. “Keep him cool, keep him hydrated. Try setting a kiddie pool up. Playing in it might help Derek.” Sadly, the kiddie pool didn’t help Derek’s mood.

 

He’s fine around with Meg, sure--bounds around the backyard with her, follows her around the park when they go there, makes sure she sticks close to Stiles when they go out for the daily “doggie” walk. He’ll often pause and stare at their surroundings like he heard something, but will quickly return to playing with Meg. Sometimes he’ll sit on the back porch and stare at the trees, head tilted quizzically. Like he can hear something but can’t figure out where the sound is coming from.

 

Otherwise, when he’s on his own, Derek just lies in the living room window seat with his head resting in his front paws, eyes staring listlessly out the window. If he’s not there then he’s lying on the back porch, dozing. It’s incredibly worrying.

 

“Are you gonna sulk today too or actually get up and act like a human being who has stuff to do?” Stiles asked sarcastically once from his spot on the sofa. “Because I need to know how many _people_ I’m going be making lunch for.” He’d just gotten off the phone with his dad, who had no news. He’d hoped it would inspire a huff or eye roll from the wolf, but Derek had not responded. He hadn’t even flicked an ear in Stiles’ direction. That made Stiles feel like shit in return.

 

Since then, Stiles has wracked his brains over and over again wondering how he could cheer Derek up. The simplest and fastest way to cheer the werewolf up would be to find Laura. But how do you find someone who doesn’t want to be found?

 

Stiles angrily scrubs at the stubborn patch of cheese clinging to the pot as he considers this. Short of the person having a tracking chip, there’s just no way to find someone who is hiding. If Laura’s phone hadn’t been busted to hell then it would have been possible to track her new location. _‘If only she’d kept two phones,_ ’ Stiles scowls thoughtfully _, ‘That woulda made thin...’_

 

Stiles forgot about the soapy sponge in his hand and let his palm connect with his forehead. “Ow!” he yells in surprise and then in pain when some of the soap slides into his eye. “Ow, ow, ow! Son of a _bitch_!”

 

“You said a bad word!” Meg yells from the living room.

 

Muttering several more child friendly curses under his breath, Stiles hurriedly washes his eyes out before running into the living room. There’re toys everywhere. It’s like a toy explosion went off in the room. And in the middle of it are Meg and Derek playing doctor. Or maybe it’s Vets given that Derek’s a wolf. But that sure as hell doesn’t explain the plastic child sized stethoscope around Derek’s neck.

 

Stiles stumbles over a few dolls and building blocks before kneeling in front of the wolf. The wolf stares at him as he breathlessly says, “Derek! Was Laura the only one who had a cell phone?”

 

Derek’s eyes narrow immediately, a chuffing noise preceding the shake he gives Stiles. All but vibrating in excitement, Stiles asks, “And you didn’t drop yours in the woods, right? It wasn’t in your clothes when you shifted and ran away from Laura?”

 

He can _see_ Derek making the connection. Derek’s eyes flash blue, widening in realization before he bounds up to his feet. Before Stiles knows it, he’s staring up at a completely human Derek who is pulling him up as well. “We need to call your dad,” Derek tells him, hands tight around Stiles’ arms.

 

At the same time, Meg yells, “It’s a willy!”

 

Derek sweeps past him, heading over to where Stiles’ phone is being charged. “Willy?” he asks his daughter in confusion. “Like, Free Willy, the whale?” He doesn’t remember Meg seeing that movie. What’s a whale got to do with anything right now anyways?

 

Meg giggles and points at Derek. “That willy!”

 

It takes exactly two nanoseconds for Stiles to understand and force Meg to look the other way. “I thought we agreed you’d always keep some clothes on hand, Derek!” he yells at the man, making a mad grab for the afghan hanging off the couch arm. Without looking back, Stiles throws it at the werewolf and sternly tells his daughter, “Don’t ever follow Derek’s example, okay, baby?”

 

“Why not?” Meg asks, innocent eyes peering up at him.

 

While he tries to explain why casual public nudity is not an acceptable social behavior, Stiles can hear Derek talking to his dad. A part of him wants to kick himself in the head for not thinking of tracking Derek’s phone before. The look on Derek’s face tells Stiles that he’s feeling the same way.

 

“I barely use the thing,” Derek saying, “Laura made me get one but I didn’t really talk to anyone but Laura. Yeah, it was in the dashboard. I threw it in there before we started driving.”

 

That... makes so much sense and is also pretty damn sad. Stiles tries not to think about it too hard. Instead, he thinks about what this could mean. Assuming Lauras’ got the car, and Derek’s phone is still in the aforementioned car, then there’s a high chance they can track her down. Provided that the phone is on and working... Stiles is gonna cross his fingers for luck in that regard.

 

Stiles’ eyes drift to the couch where Derek’s pillow rests in one corner of the sofa. There’s a mild, painful sensation deep inside his chest when he realizes Derek’s going to go away soon. As soon as he realizes this, Stiles shakes his head. He’s a terrible person thinking about himself and how he’s going to miss having the man around instead of being happy that Derek could be reunited with Laura soon.

 

Oh God. Stiles pauses as he looks at his daughter, who has gone back to stoically playing doctor with her toys. How is Meg going to take this? Stiles can already envision the weeks to follow Derek’s leaving. They’ll be filled with silence and questions Stiles will hate answering. Could he maybe convince Derek to stay a while longer? For Meg’s sake if no one else’s? It’s clear to anyone with eyes that Derek’s fond of the little girl.

 

 _“Man up and stop using your daughter as an excuse, Stilinski,”_ an Allison-like voice scolds him. Derek walks back into the room, afghan tied messily around his hips and a smile on his lips. Stiles pulls a smile up in return.

 

“So?” he asks because that’s the polite thing to do. Plus he’s curious to know how much time he’s got left with Derek.

 

The werewolf hands the phone over, smile widening. Derek hasn’t looked this happy and hopeful in...wow, since he got here. “Your dad said he’ll check and tell us by tomorrow.”

 

Would it be too dramatic of him if Stiles calls tomorrow “Judgement Day”?

 

\----

 

Derek spends the night, and a good part of the next morning, hovering around the phone. He paces back and forth in the hallway, claws pattering against the floor. When Scott had swung by in the morning to pick Meg up, he’d seen Derek pacing and asked Stiles, “Is he... I’m not sure that’s normal behavior.”

 

Stiles had made up some weird excuse or another, saying Derek always got fussy when they left in the morning, and Scott had thankfully accepted the makeshift explanation. Before Stiles had left however, he’d told Derek to call him if and when the Sheriff called. He’d written his cell number down on a post-it note and stuck it on the wall above the phone.

 

“ _Call me_.” He’d insisted fimrly on the way out.

 

When he’s finally alone, Derek lets his thoughts take over. As he paces the silent house, Derek’s hope waxes and wanes in a steady cycle. What if this is another dead end? What if they found Derek’s phone abandoned somewhere? What if they found the car but no Laura? What if Laura was dead? What if Laura was hurt? What if the Sheriff and his people found Laura hiding someplace?

 

The “what if”s circled in his mind, driving him to the point of madness. His empty stomach rumbles, but Derek feels no hunger, just a vague nauseated feeling setting. All he can think about is Laura.

 

It’s only when he passes through the kitchen and raises his head distractedly to look out the window does another thought finally enter his brain. Derek pauses in front of the back door, frowns at the wood as he remembers the strange sensation of being watched. For the past few days, he’s suspected that the house is being watched. But he’s too paranoid to leave Stiles and Meg alone to investigate properly. Furthermore, there’s no scent to track.

 

Derek suspects it’s hunters. They’ve got ways to mask their scents. He sits down, thinks back to what the Sheriff had told him about the people they’d arrested. Had he said anything about those guys having any accomplices who might still be at large?

 

He can’t help but whine worriedly at the thought of putting Meg and Stiles in danger. What if whoever it was followed Stiles to work? Or worse, Meg to her _school_?

 

Derek’s ready to start a fresh round of pacing when the phone rings shrilly. After jumping a few inches in the air, Derek hurriedly shifts and scrambles to grab the phone.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Derek?” The Sheriff’s voice comes through the line. “It’s Sheriff Stilinski. I’ve got some good news.”

 

A complicated emotion swells in his chest as he listens to the Sheriff. In a rare stroke of good luck, they’ve found the Camaro tucked a little ways into the Preserve, hiding under a ton of branches. Apparently some kids can accidentally stumbled upon it while playing. And it’s just the Sheriff’s guess but it’s possible Laura hid the car _after_ she escaped. The bad news is that the seats and steering wheel were caked in blood.

 

“It looks like she was pretty hurt.” The Sheriff’s carefully neutral voice makes Derek squeeze the phone so hard he hears the cheap plastic crack. “But there are tire tracks right next to the car that make me think someone might have come to help her. We’re going to try and figure out what kind of car it was and who it belongs to. We found your phone right where you said it’d be too, dead as a doornail though.”

 

Derek zones out as the Sheriff offers several platitudes to comfort him. There weren’t any signs of a struggle. Laura might have called a friend and could be alive somewhere in town. They’ll check Derek’s phone to see if she’d used it to call someone. The dried blood looks pretty old so it might be from the initial attack.

 

For his part, Derek wonders if the dried blood is even dried blood or the black sludge that bleeds out as a result of wolfsbane poisoning? It had to be the latter. There’s very few wounds that would make an alpha bleed enough to dirty a car up. But the real question is who could have come to help Laura? They didn-

 

A quiet beeping noise interrupts the Sheriff’s words and brings Derek back to the present, “Sheriff? I’m getting another call.”

 

“Of course. I’ll call you later.”

 

With another nod, Derek transfers to the second call. “Hel-”

 

“Did my dad call you yet?” Stiles asks in a rush. “Tell me did! Parrish told me he was calling you when he was calling me to tell you what they found.”

 

It’s a surprise that Derek _isn’t_ surprised to find out that Stiles knows people in the Sheriff’s office well enough that they’d call him right after they’ve figured something out. But he still blinks because he didn’t think Stiles would know _this_ fast. “Uh. Yeah. I just got off the phone with him.”

 

Someone from Stiles’ side coughs nearby. “Okay, so I was thinking I’ll drop Meg off at Scott’s for a while after work and then we can go check out the scene. You up for that?”

 

Now _that’s_ a surprise. Derek stares in shock at the wall for a beat too long, causing Stiles to hesitantly prompt him. “Derek? You still there? Did the call drop? Stupid ph-”

 

“It’s fine,” he quickly reassures the human. The hunters wouldn’t dare attack Meg when she’s with another family. And if Stiles is with him, then Derek can keep an eye on him. “I’ll come to your office. Just tell me when.”

 

\----

 

As luck would have it, the visit to the scene of the ‘crime’ is a complete bust. Derek sniffs the car while Stiles pokes around the bushes for any clues that the police might have missed but they both find nothing. Nothing they didn’t already know, that is. According to Derek’s nose, Laura hasn’t been here for at least a couple of days.

 

So the end result of their trip is Derek’s visibly sour mood. He does however crack a tiny smile for Meg when they go to pick her up from Scott’s. She sleepily waves goodbye to Jordan and holds her arms up for Derek to pick her up. Derek smiles softly as he picks her up and carries her back to the car. She’s fallen asleep before Stiles has clicked her seatbelt in place. Other than an occasional sleepy murmur from Meg, the drive continues to be quiet.

 

Stiles’ eyes keep ticking between the road and Derek’s dark expression like a metronome, allowing him to notice the way Derek suddenly tenses when they pass by the cemetery.

 

“What day is it today? The date?” Derek asks lowly.

 

That earns Derek a longer stare. “The 17th. Why?”

 

And just like that, all of the fight drains out of him. Derek’s shoulders fall, face turning pale as he stares long and hard out the window. He continues to stare out long after they’ve crossed the cemetery. Stiles’ brain desperately looks around for some kind of topic that will lighten this dark mood that’s fallen over them. He can’t exactly make small talk with Derek. Like, what can they talk about? It’s not like Derek’s got a job, or kids or. Wait.

 

Stiles stares forward as he asks, “So. You never told me what you and Laura were doing in town.” That’s a good small talk question. It should work to bring the mood back to the weird kind of normal they’ve been rocking for a while now.

 

Except, out of the corner of his eye, Stiles notices the way Derek’s body visibly stiffens.

 

“It’s the anniversary of my family’s death.” Derek’s low answer is given in an utterly flat tone. It makes Stiles’ body turn towards Derek , mouth falling open in shock. “Watch the road.”

 

Stiles jerks again at the reminder, doing a tiny double take at Derek before sheepishly apologizing, “Sorry. I didn’t know.”

 

The werewolf shrugs but doesn’t say anything. And just like that, the mood is twice as worse than before. Stiles frets harder. All he wants to do by this point is to offer some kind of comfort to Derek, but he doesn’t know what to do. What if he accidentally says the wrong thing again? Would Derek even appreciate his efforts? Maybe Derek just wants to be left alone.

 

Stiles bites his bottom lip and worries it bloody. By the time they’ve reached home, Stiles hasn’t figured an answer out. Derek’s out of his seat the second the car is in park. He steps out, moves to open the back door. As Stiles gets out of his seat, Derek’s got a sleeping Meg in his arms, waiting for Stiles to grab Meg’s backpack before following up the short path up to the front door.

 

Derek hangs back, whispering something to Meg as she stirs, before stepping into the house. “Should I take her upstairs?”

 

Given that Scott and Allison had made sure she’d done her homework with Jordan _and_ fed her, Stiles nods. He anticipates Derek handing her over, but the other man nods and walks towards the staircase instead. Stiles winds up following Derek all the way to Meg’s room. He stands in the doorway, watching Derek pull Meg’s shoes and socks off before tucking her into bed.

 

Stiles leans against one side of the doorway, watching Derek walk up to him There’s a moment where they stand in front of each other, staring into each others eyes. Trying to read what’s going on in each other’s heads. Stiles isn’t sure what Derek sees--and honestly, he’s hoping that Derek reads his earnest desire to help Derek in whatever way he can. But for his part...He can’t read anything but tired gentleness in Derek’s pale eyes.

 

“You okay?” he asks, mindful of the fact that Meg’s sleeping nearby.

 

Derek blinks. Stiles stares entranced at the long lashes that kiss Derek’s cheek before rising back up. The gentleness is gone in a flash. Replaced with a deeply tired look that sends an ache through Stiles’ chest. His hand reaches out before he can stop himself. Derek’s arm is warm under his fingertips, muscle flexing at the soft touch.

 

“Derek...”

 

An angry noise bursting out of Derek’s throat is the only warning he gets before Derek’s shoving past him. His back slams into the doorway. The pain that shoots up his spine swiftly turns his shock into anger. He turns, and follows Derek’s back down the stairs while demanding, “What the hell Derek? Derek! _Derek_!”

 

Derek’s headed for the backdoor. It’s only when Derek angrily strips his shirt off that Stiles gets what he’s going to do. “Are you going to run away again?” he asks angrily. “Are you _completely_ incapable of talking about your feelings like an _adult_?”

 

Derek snarls at him, eyes flashing blue. “Back off, Stiles!”

 

“No, I’m _not_ gonna back off!” Stiles raises his voice and just as quick brings it back down as he remembers Meg. “I’ve done nothing _but_ back off. I’ve given you so much room you could build Buckingham Palace on it. You can’t running away from things you don’t want to deal with; Life doesn’t work like that.” Stiles hisses back through clenched teeth, grabbing Derek by the arm to force him to meet his eye. “And _stop_ trying to push me away. I’m trying to help you.”

 

Derek yanks his arm back. “I don’t need your help.”

 

The utterly ludicrous statement makes Stiles throw his head back and laugh. “Sure you don’t. You’re _so_ right. You don’t need _any_ help,” he mocks, sarcasm dripping from every word. Derek’s lips curl up, showing off his fangs when he growls again. But it only spurs Stiles on. “You’ve got everything under control don’t you? What _was_ I thinking? You’re the fucking _epitome_ of ‘I-have-my-life-under-complete-control.’ It’s not like you’re hiding out in someone else’s home, waiting for the police to tell you where your sister is. Without any clothes, or money or _anything_. Oh, yeah. You don’t need _any_ help from anyone. You’ve _got_ this.”

 

His chest heaves as he finishes his angry, sarcastic rant. With every thud of his heart, fire spreads throughout his body. Blood burns through his veins as he stares Derek down. A furious anger crawls through him and he sees that same anger reflected in the werewolf’s eyes.

 

Derek’s eyes are lit in a way Stiles hasn’t seen before. They’re _ablaze_ with so many emotions that it makes Stiles’ breath stutter. He opens his mouth--he’s not even sure why he does that--and Derek’s eyes fall down to catch the motion. There’s no mistaking that little gesture. Or the new heat that flares in Derek’s eyes.

 

He’s not sure who reaches for whom, but the next thing he knows they’re kissing each other frantically. A fang knicks over his bottom lip, drawing blood and Stiles groans when Derek captures the bleeding wound between both his lips. His hands grip Derek’s shirt, yanking him back even as another, more ragged moan falls out when Derek suckles and licks his wound.

 

Greedy hands yank each others clothes off as they fall on the sofa together. Stiles arches up into Derek’s warmer body, knees bracketing the other man’s body as his hands slide under elastic to squeeze hot flesh. He thinks he says something about Derek’s ass that has Derek chuckling breathlessly against Stiles’ clavicle. It’s not the last thing they say, but it’s definitely the last fully coherent sentence either of them says after that point.

 

There’s only hot skin and points of connection. Stiles is hyper aware of every inch of skin that he has pressed against Derek’s. He’s never felt more safe than he does right there when Derek’s pressing him down into the sofa, pushing his legs open and staring him down. Stiles is more than happy to spread his legs, enjoy the drag of his calf against Derek’s thigh. His mouth falls open when a broad hand curls loosely around his neck and drags down his chest. The touch sends shivers down his spine, and when that touch curls around his leaking dick, Stiles struggles not to close his eyes.

 

He digs his short nails into Derek’s back, pulls him down to exchange sloppy kisses as Derek begins to slowly jerk him off. Stiles’ hand is quick to join the party, moving down between them to grab Derek’s hard length in return. He makes a curious, pleased little noise when he feels the foreskin there, feeling the need to get his mouth on that. Stiles pushes himself up on his elbows, biting on Derek’s top lip for a moment to enjoy the fullness there before he tries to flip them over. But Derek’s having none of it. Derek growls into his mouth, pushes his sweaty back down again before moving down to give Stiles’ neck extreme beard burn.

 

Stiles eyes fly wide open when Derek’s hand does a delightful up twist around his dick. He gasps up at the ceiling, putting his last thought on the back burner. Later, Stiles decides as he gets his hand back on Derek’s cock. Not just his hand too. He’ll go down on Derek later. Yeah. See how long it takes to make Derek melt the way he’s making Stiles’ become one with the sofa. God, he wonders what Derek tastes like.

 

His hips move on their own, fucking up into Derek’s hand. But it’s not enough. “Tighter,” Stiles begs. “Faster. Derek, you gotta.”

 

Derek follows his breathless instructions immediately. Stiles feels his mouth falling open, and is distantly aware of the _sounds_ that are falling out of his mouth. He turns his face and presses his open mouth against Derek’s bare wrist, hoping it’ll stifle the embarrassing noises that are spilling out of him. It just _barely_ works.

 

It utterly _fails_ when Derek takes his hand away. Stiles pulls away to make an annoyed squawk, but it turns into a heady gasp when he feels Derek’s cock sliding against his own. He throws his head back, _delighted_ at the turn this has taken. Is he smiling up at the stained ceiling? Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if he was. It’s been too long since he’s had sex. Other than his left hand, he hasn’t been in this kind of action in...in....

 

The trail of thought falls away when Derek mouths his way up Stiles’ neck and captures his lips in a harsh kiss. Stiles doesn’t understand how this feels so good. It’s just their eager hands holding each other’s naked bodies in place as they frantically move against each other, desperate to get each other off. It’s just _sex_. And yet, Stiles can’t remember the last time he’d feel so much heat and passion for another partner. _With_ another partner.

 

Stile writhes in place, sliding his hand down to grab them both and jerk them off together. He’s grateful and annoyed by the heavy hand that’s holding his head in place. Grateful because this way, their mouths keep brushing against each other as they gasp and moan. Annoyed because Stiles wants to get his mouth on the few beads of sweat that have trickled down Derek’s forehead and are centimeters away from sinking into the man’s beard.

 

His mouth is pressed against Derek’s chin when his orgasm hits. Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, riding the pleasure out as it crashes over him, wave after pleasurable wave. Spurts of hot wetness grows between their bodies, making their stomachs stick together. Derek lets out a quiet gasp as he comes. Stiles pushes his eyes open because he has to see. He _needs_ to see Derek in this moment.

 

And Derek looks _beautiful_. His face is slack in pleasure, relaxing as he lets out a shaky exhale before shuddering on top of Stiles. Stiles wraps his clean hand around Derek’s neck, mirroring the grip the werewolf has on him, and pulls him down into a proper kiss. It’s a slow, lazy kiss meant to bring them down from the high they’ve just gotten. His toes tingle with pins and needles as he raises his leg up and uses it to drag Derek down against him.

 

The quiet ‘oof’ Derek lets out has Stiles chuckling. He smiles placidly into Derek’s cheek, humming when he feels Derek’s hand sliding up and down his ribs.

 

“We should probably go wash up before we get stuck together,” Stiles points out. Nothing kills the afterglow faster than come sticking your pubic hairs together. Derek grunts but doesn’t make any effort to move. In fact, he presses his nose against Stiles’ neck and sighs like he’s about to take a nap.

 

 _‘What a great idea. I’m gonna take a nap too_ ,’ Stiles decides, closing his eyes.

 

\----

 

Derek knows him sneaking out of Stiles’ arms and house with his tail literally between his legs is a cowardly thing to do, but he _needs_ get away for a while. He needs to process what just happened with a clear mind set. He needs to be somewhere where his senses aren’t overpowered by his and Stiles’ intertwined scents. It feels like it’s burnt into his skin, even after the quick shower he’s taken. If he closes his eyes and concentrates, Derek can smell _them_ \--heavy and earth toned, with the musky scent of sex at the base.

 

The reminder has his head turning back towards a house, a low whine building in his chest. He’s too far away from the house for it to be visible, but Derek can picture it easy enough in his head. It makes him want to go back. What if Stiles wakes up from his nap and sees he’s gone? What will Stiles think? The thought of making Stiles worry like that makes Derek want to writhe in unease.

 

But that desire didn’t change the sinking feel in his gut that they shouldn’t have had sex. Not like that. Not on the heels of an argument. That’s not how it should have happened. Not that he’d been planning on having sex with Stiles. Not on a conscious level anyways.

 

If he were in his human form, Derek would rub his knuckles against his eyelids and sigh. But he’s on all fours so he settles for sitting back on his haunches and sighing. It’s not that he doesn’t like Stiles, because he kind of grudgingly _does_. It’s just that Derek didn’t think he liked Stiles like that. Sure he’d tolerated Stiles in the beginning, but after the time they’ve spent together? Derek’s warmed up to him.

 

Sure there _had_ been that moment when he’d caught Stiles before he’d fallen off the back steps. The way Stiles had stared at him had, eyes brimming with a strange hope that had, for the first time, prompted thoughts about wanting to kiss Stiles’ mouth shut. The same thought had popped up a couple of more times after that but Derek had always pushed it aside. Chalking it up to misplaced gratitude. But now...

 

Derek’s not sure how long he sits there staring at the direction of the Stilinski house, lost in his own thoughts. It feels like long, sleepy hours that lulls his awareness away. Which is why when he hears the sharp crack of a twig snapping behind him, it takes a moment for his body to jerk into awareness.

 

His head snaps up, eyes darting around the darkness. He sniffs the air, but there’s nothing. No new scent that he can pick up. His hackles rise, a throaty growl building in his chest. His ears strain to catch the smallest of sound, to get any indication of where the enemy is going to attack from. It seems as though the forest has fallen silent in anticipation of the attack. And still, Derek can’t pick anything up. Not a footstep. Not a single click of a gun’s safety being taken off.

 

And then the bushes behind him rustle.

 

He twists his body around, snarling loudly but it’s too late. A dark mass jumps out of the shadows, pouncing on him. Claws and fangs pin him to the ground, even as he tries to writhe away. His attacker’s scent hits him a second later. The shock that floods him paralyzes him. He stares bewildered up at the red eyed wolf who’s pulling away. Derek remains lying on his back in the dirt as Laura takes another step back and changes into her human form.

 

“You left yourself wide open, Derek,” Laura chides, rolling her shoulders until they let out twin cracks. “If I was someone else, you’d be dead.”

 

Derek can’t believe she’s alive and well and standing here in front of him scolding like he’s a kid. She stands tall and proud, tilting her head curiously down at him. Her hair swings with the small motion, just slightly frizzy the way it gets after she’s washed it. “Derek?” She asks, crouching down at his level. “I didn’t knock you down too hard, did I?”

 

It’s only when he sees her stretching her hand out towards him that Derek remembers to shift. His bones crack into place, aching for a second before the pain fades away. He grabs Laura’s hand half way, gripping it tightly as he asks, “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

 

She rolls her eyes as she helps him up to his feet, “Calm down, drama queen. I think you know what happened to me. Deaton said you were staying with the Sheriff’s son while you’ve been looking for me.” The anger he felt at her nonchalance disappears in a flash when Laura tilts her head, nose curling in disgust. “Damn, Derek. You _reek_. Who’d you bang?” Derek chokes on her name, staring at his sister, who makes a mildly disgusted face before continuing, “Was it the Sheriff’s son? Don’t tell me that’s how you’ve been paying your ‘rent’.”

 

“ _No_!” Derek slashes a hand between them. “Stiles let me stay with him without asking for anything in return.”

 

Laura hums and asks, “As a dog or human?”

 

After a short moment of hesitation, Derek answers, “Both. He...I told him about us.” And just like that, Laura’s good humored expression sharpens. “I ... he walked in on me one night when I was like this and he thought I was a burglar. I had to tell him before he hit me on the head with a baseball bat.”

 

“So you decided to tell him you were a werewolf instead of jumping out the window and coming back inside on all fours acting like you’d just gone out to take a dump?” Laura groans as she smacks her palm against her face. “Jesus, Derek! What else did you do? Tell him all the family secrets?”

 

Peeved, Derek retorts, “Of course I didn’t! I trust Stiles, but I didn’t spill _everything_.”

 

“Just everything important.” Laura snarks back.

 

Derek snaps back, “You still haven’t told me where the hell _you’ve_ been.”

 

Laura waves Derek’s words away. “It’s not that big of a deal. After we separated I got to the car and got chased all the way to Beacon Hills. Right before I got into town, the hunters made me go off the road. I tried to run, but they managed to knock me out with some tranq. Then they dragged me to this smelly distillery place where they kept me locked up for a week. As soon as I’d figured out they kept drugging the food they were feeding me, it was easy enough to take care of them.”

 

“And the blood?” Derek asks. “You were bleeding pretty badly when you drove away from there.”

 

His sister snaps her fingers, like she’d _forgotten about that_. “One of the guys shot me while I was getting away. Wolfsbane bullet. I was lucky it was just my thigh.” Laura taps the spot right above her right knee. “Hurt like a bitch. I nearly crashed the car twice before getting here. Anyway. After I’d tied those guys up, I got your phone and called Alan. You know, our old emissary? I asked him to help and he told me to get to Preserve. ”

 

“Why did he tell you to get to the Preserve?” Derek asks.

 

Shrugging, Laura replies, “He said something about it being close to his place? I dunno, I didn’t really ask. I was too busy bleeding out all over the leather seats. He was already waiting for me and helped me hide the car. He cleaned me up, gave me an antidote, and told me where to find you.” Her eyes flick over his shoulder, “I’ve been watching you for a couple of days now, after I masked my scent. I wasn’t sure if there was some other alpha in town or not. I didn’t want to step on any toes. We’ve had enough trouble as it is this time around.” Laura sniffs disdainfully, shaking her hair back. “The real weird thing, though? It was almost like Alan was waiting for me.”

 

Derek can’t help but roll his eyes. “Of _course_ he was waiting for you. You’d called him, remember?”

 

Rolling her eyes own back, Laura snarks back, “That’s not what I meant, dumbass. I meant, he’d been expecting my call. Some guy he works with had told him about another wolf that’d come in. Alan didn’t know it was you, but he figured a lone wolf in California _had_ to be a werewolf. He didn’t seem that surprised when I called him.”

 

Some guy had told him? That had to be Isaac. That meant Alan was Deaton? “What’s Alan’s name? Full name.” Derek asks sharply.

 

“Alan Deaton. Why?”

 

“And he’s the vet? At the clinic in town?”

 

Impatiently, Laura nods and asks, “Yeah. What’s that got to do with anything?”

 

Derek sheepishly scrubs the back of his neck. “He didn’t tell you how I came to town? Wait. Why didn’t he tell me about _you_?”

 

“I told him not too. It took me a couple of days to get back on my feet and then I wanted to see for myself if you were alright. But tell me how you got to town.”

 

“I got hit by this truck after we got separated. Stiles and his daughter were driving by and saw it happen. I was kind of out of it so I just let them drive me to the vet. The guy there, Isaac, said he’d tell his boss about me and see if he could get me shipped some place more appropriate for a wolf.”

 

Laura barks an amused laugh. “You had a real adventure, didn’t you? It’s a regular Disney movie. Got hit by a car, was rescued by a handsome prince,” She gives him a curious side eye, “He _is_ handsome, right?”

 

“Kinda. I guess,” Derek mutters, not really wanting to admit that to Laura since she’d probably hold it over his head for _ages_ , “if you’re into the whole lean thing.”

 

“You _had_ to be into him if you banged him.” Derek huffs and tries to deny it but Laura’s not listening. She’s throwing an arm around him, squeezing him against her side. “Whatever. I’m just glad I found you safe and sound and in one piece. We can get back to the regular schedule now.”

 

“What?” He blinks down at his sister in confusion.

 

Laura begins to walk, dragging him along with her. “We need to get a move on. Thanks to the whole hunters thing we’re _way_ behind on schedule and we both only have so many days off left to splurge. _And_ I need you to come with me to talk with this hunter who lives here. Alan said we need to report the other morons who attacked us to this guy. Apparently this chick’s really gung-ho about following the Code and gets really pissed off when other hunters don’t follow it.” Laura grimaces even as she shakes her head, clearly not believing such a hunter exists. Or maybe it's the fact that a hunter lives in their own town. Either way, Derek can’t help but distrustfully frown as well.

 

Unthinkingly, his head turns to gaze back in the direction from where he’s run. His feet take him two steps that way before he opens his mouth, “I need to go say goodbye to Stiles and Meg.”

 

Laura clicks her tongue in clear annoyance, “We don’t have time for that Derek! You realized we’re already-”

 

“I can’t just up and _leave_ without telling them what happened!” Derek retorts.

 

With an annoyed huff, Laura throws up her hands, “Fine! Then leave him a note or a letter or something! But we’re not staying there for longer than 5 minutes! There’s too much we need to get today if we want to make it back to New York before our vacation time runs out.”

 

Derek nods and begins to jog towards the house, listening to Laura as she shifts back into her wolf form and slides into the shadows. He can’t see her but he can hear her heart beat and foot falls. It comforts him even as his heart sinks down to his feet because he hadn’t expected saying goodbye to Stiles and Meg so abruptly.

 

A miserable little whine presses against his tongue. It’s heavy and bitter tasting behind his teeth. Derek wants to let it out. But instead he curls his hands into fists and runs faster. He rubs his tongue against the back of his teeth nervously as he walks up the porch steps. It sounds like Stiles is still sleeping. Derek isn’t sure if he’s relieved or saddened by that.

 

He crawls in through the doggie dog, ignoring Laura as she pushes her way in too. It takes a while to find a piece of paper and pen but soon enough, Derek’s got a short, hastily scribbled note prepared. It’s got a quick explanation of what happened and where Stiles can reach him in New York (with their home address and the number of Derek’s workplace). He asks Stiles to keep his phone, to use it to contact Derek if he wants. Personally, Derek thinks Stiles might not feel so forgiving.

 

But he folds the note in half, writes Stiles’ name on it and wonders where to put it. On the coffee table so that Stiles can see it right after waking up? Stiles might accidentally hit it in his sleep. The kitchen counter? It might slide to the floor. Meg’s room? She might throw it away by accident.

 

He’s not made up his mind when Laura growls warningly at him and nips at his ankles. Hissing at his sister, Derek gives up and puts the note next to the bowl of key’s resting next to the front door. He props it against the wall, right behind the bowl so that there’s no way Stiles can miss it when he leaves.

 

Laura is quick to herd him towards the backdoor, eyes flashing in warning when Derek drags his feet. His eyes go back to where he can hear Stiles sighing in his sleep. He wants to go back and have one last look at Stiles because who knows if Stiles is going to want to talk to him after this.

 

But Laura butts her head against the back of his knees and he’s out the door.

 

\----

 

Stiles has lived through more than his share of bad surprises: finding out his mom has frontotemporal dementia and wasn’t expected to live up to her 30th birthday, waking up to find his dad passed out drunk in the hallway the one night he creeps downstairs to get a drink of water, getting a rejection letter from Berkeley when he’d been so _sure_ he’d get in, coming out of a final to face Jenna who told him she was pregnant, Jenna slapping divorce papers down in front of him after barely a year of marriage, getting a call from Parrish saying, “Stay calm, okay? Your dad’s in the hospital. There was an accident…”

 

What he’s saying is, he’s experienced all kinds of bad surprises. But they’ve all been the “rug pulled out from under you” kind. The ones that come out of no where and slam a chair to the back of his head, causing him to stagger to the floor wondering what the hell just happened.

 

Derek had been a bad surprise of a totally different nature.

 

Looking back at it, Stiles wants to slap his past self for missing all the obvious signs. Not only had he missed them, but had _rationalized_ them away.

 

Derek’s not here after I’ve woken up? He must have gone out for a walk or a run.

 

It’s past lunch time and Derek’s not picking the phone up? He must be in the bathroom or gone outside.

 

Arrive home and find no Derek preparing dinner? Derek must have picking up Laura’s scent somewhere.

 

It’s only after Stiles wakes up the _next day_ does reality slap him in the face. _Then_ he feels like a complete and utter idiot for having missed the obvious. Derek’s left them. He pulled a wham bam, without the thank you, man.  Stiles sits on the edge of his bed, holding his head wondering why his chest aches so badly.

 

The thing is, he knows why. But Stiles avoids it, avoids acknowledging his own emotions even when they haunt his mind like a spectre.

 

He tries to fall into the tedious routine of life--focuses everything he has on Meg and his work--but it doesn’t work. It’s a minor blessing Meg doesn’t take Derek’s disappearance too close to heart.

 

Stiles tells her Derek had to leave. That Derek found his sister and left. Meg takes it better than expected given how enamoured she’d been with him. There’s a few days of petulance, but then it tapers out.

 

For Meg, life goes back to normal. For Stiles? It’s a struggle when he keeps tripping over small reminders of Derek. It’s _his_ house! And Derek had only been a guest for like, two weeks or something. So _why_ are there so many reminders of the man _everywhere_? It’s fucking annoying. He shouldn’t see the stupid lasagna dish and feel _sad_. With a disgusted little noise Stiles had shoved the thing into the depth of the nearest cupboard and moved to order pizza for dinner instead.

 

That’s not even the worst part, though. No. The worst part is how Derek just up and left without a word. Stiles can’t _believe_ the man would do something like that. How could Derek just _leave_ the way he had? Given the way their relationship had progressed, Stiles expected a note at the very least. _Some_ kind of an explanation.

 

Maybe he’d been giving him too much credit.

 

The days pass slowly. It’s like time itself is dragging its heels, whining, “I don’t wanna go,” at whomever is listening. In a similar fashion, Stiles drags himself from work to home and tries to get over Derek, his ex-...something.

 

It kinda works, it kinda doesn’t.

 

The people around him are slightly confused why Derek just up and left (the dog _and_ the person), but Stiles knows how to lie well enough to throw off suspicion. The trick is to keep the lie simple. And, of course, to make sure it’s got a kernel of truth in it. So his lie is that Derek stumbled upon Laura while taking a walk in the Preserve, came back to tell Stiles, and left the same night. For the wolf, he says it ran away.

 

His dad looks annoyed as hell, a little distrustful even, but grudgingly accepts it. He points out they still have Derek’s phone, would Stiles like to use it to contact Derek? Stiles sneers at the device and tells his dad to throw it into a landfill for all he cares. His dad doesn’t bring Derek up again after that.

 

Scott and Allison show similar hesitation before accepting his lie. One not-too-subtle comment of “I don’t want to talk about it” and no one brings Derek up again. Not that that stops him from remembering Derek at odd moments. Like when Derek was done doing laundry and hefted the basket up on the table. On the bright side, at least now Stiles puts the clean clothes away instead of just leaving them on the kitchen table.

 

It’s usually deep into the night that Stiles will think about Derek and wonder, _What actually happened? Did Derek find Laura and leave? Or did some Hunters catch Derek and..._ Stiles firmly shakes his head and doesn’t follow that thought. He prefers to think of Derek being alive and an asshole instead of the alternative.

 

Before he knows it, months have passed and they’re enjoying a proper California winter. A non-winter, as any California resident will tell you. But hey, any excuse to pull the beanies, hoodies, and sweaters out, right? Even if it means being uncomfortably warm after you’ve gotten your much awaited winter Starbucks drink.

 

Speaking of which.

 

Stiles is tempted to bounce on his toes as he waits in line to put in his order. Does he feels more like a caramel brulee latte, peppermint latte, or peppermint hot chocolate? Thankfully there’s a fair number of people ahead of him so he gets more than enough time to make up his mind. After he orders his caramel brulee latte, Stiles moves on to ponder his next decision: Should he grab a seat here in the cafe or go to the park?

 

He restlessly taps his phone against his thigh while debating between the two choices. The park means fresh air and all that jazz, but if he finds a seat here, zero chance of getting a sunburn. His eyes do a quick sweep around the cafe, but there’s not an empty seat in sight. There’s a couple sitting at a three person table, but Stiles doesn’t want to interrupt the girls’ date.

 

 _‘Park it is,’_ Stiles sighs to himself as he collects his drink. He shivers as soon as he steps out the door, taking a quick sip of his coffee before changing his mind. A quick stop at the bookshop and _then_ the park. If he’s lucky, he’ll find a book to read. And if he’s _really_ lucky, it’ll be a good enough book to keep him distracted for the whole, _glorious_ six hours he’s got to spare.

 

 _‘Note to self,’_ Stiles thinks as he jogs across the street, ‘ _pick up some kind of thank you gift for Melissa for volunteering to babysit Meg_.’

 

A couple of feet away from the store, Stiles finishes his drink and tosses the empty red cup away. He sticks his hands into his hoodie and walks towards the store, taking a moment to stand outside and check out the books they’ve got put up in the large window display. As he steps inside, the store clerk barely glances at him, too busy scowling at the computer monitor.

 

Stiles wanders through the aisles, taking his time as he browses through the different sections. He spends a good amount of time in the children’s section picking a few books for Meg before moving on.

 

Roughly an hour later, he’s tottering up to the counter with a small stack of books. In his defense, most of them are for Meg. The store clerk’s eyebrows soften when they notice they have a customer, giving Stiles a curt smile before asking, “Will that be all?”

 

Stiles nods, hand moving to pull his wallet out of his back pocket. “Yeah.”

 

The clerk drags the books forward, quickly scanning them through the system while Stiles debates between cash or credit. She’s in-between scanning two kids storybooks when the door swishes open. Stiles is too busy thumbing through the cash he has, eyes ticking between the stone-faced clerk and his wallet, to pay attention to the newcomer. But he still notices the person out of the corner of his eye. It’s hard to miss the way the person comes to stand a couple of feet away from him.

 

“That’ll be $53.55.”

 

Stiles cringes at the total, pulling his credit card out. He’s wondering why children’s books are so expensive when the stranger clears his throat. As the store clerk takes his card, Stiles turns to give the person a curious look. And freezes.

 

Derek’s standing in front of him, looking pensive and grumpy and very much larger than life. His breath hitches slightly when he takes Derek in, feeling something twist inside of him. The man looks good in his fitted jeans and navy blue sweater. He looks better than Stiles remembers. A lot more conflicted as well.

 

His Adam’s apple bobs, causing Stiles’ eyes to drop down to catch that movement. “Why didn’t you call?”

 

“Huh?” Stiles asks stupidly. Months and months of no contact and _that’s_ what Derek has to say?

 

“Sign please,” the store clerk interrupts. She gives Stiles an expectant look before looking at the printed receipt. Right. He needs to sign that. His usual signature is an angry scratch, pen punching through the thin paper as he draws a line underneath his name.

 

“ _Why_ didn’t you call me, Stiles?” Derek asks again.

 

If it’s immature to ignore someone who expects you to answer a question then...fine. Stiles is immature. But he’s really damn mad that after such a long radio silence, the first thing Derek would say to him is “Why didn’t you call?” How the hell _could_ he have called? He didn’t have any way to track Derek down! Stiles would really like to know _how_ he could have contacted Derek but that would mean acknowledging Derek, and Stiles isn’t feeling up to that.

 

So he determinedly ignores Derek when he calls his name, focusing on the store clerk as she bags his books. She thanks him while handing the bag over and Stiles is outta there. He walks around Derek, clenching his teeth at the confused but plaintive way Derek calls his name before stepping out.

 

Screw the park. He needs to just get the hell away from Derek.

 

Only Derek doesn’t get that message.

 

The man actually has the gall to step in front of Stiles, effectively cutting off Stiles’ exit route. And when Stiles takes a step to the left, Derek mirrors him. The strange game of chicken continues, complete with heavy glaring until the clerk finally asks, “Is everything okay? Do I need to call the cops?”

 

“No.”

 

“Yes!”

 

And there’s a whole new world of hurt flashing over Derek’s face. And typically-- _typically_ \--Stiles would feel bad about being this mean. But _months_ of radio silence from Derek has made Stiles feel entitled to a smidge of meanness. So he juts his chin out, stubborn and challenging as he stares Derek down.

 

“Which is it?” the clerk asks in confusion.

 

Derek is clearly grinding his teeth in frustration when Stiles rolls his eyes. “Don’t call them. I’m pretty sure it’s not illegal to run out on someone without an explanation after you’ve helped them get back on their feet again. Even if it should be.”

 

“I left you a note explaining what’d happened.”

 

“Sure you did,” Stiles snarks, trying to slither past Derek, but nope. He just winds up getting caught between an angry werewolf and the side of a bookshelf.

 

Derek’s eyes flash when he snarls, “I _did_. I left you a note next to the bowl in the hall. I told you where you could contact me and you never did. And I waited _months_ for you to call me! I even tried calling my old number but no one ever picked up!”

 

With a snarl of his own, Stiles shoves Derek back, “And I waited months for _you_ to call me. What the hell stopped you from reaching out to me first? You knew where I lived. You knew my number.”

 

“Like I _said_...” Stiles watches Derek run a frustrated hand through his hair, tugging on the strands quickly before repeating himself, “I was waiting for _you_ to contact me. I said that in the note I left you!”

 

Three things happen at the same time. The clerk asks again if she should call the police, two boys amble into the store, arguing about something as they push the door open, and Derek, unthinkingly, turns to look at the store clerk and then the newcomers. Without missing a beat, Stiles takes his chance and slips out the door. He hears Derek call his name but ignores it. Stiles speed walks down the sidewalk, hoping that Derek’s going to take the damn hint and leave him be.

 

He’s still a tiny bit surprised (and disappointed) when Derek doesn’t follow him. And _that_ surprises Stiles too. When he stops power walking a couple of minutes later and turns around, he sees nothing. Stiles feels _disappointed_. And he wants to kick himself for it. Feeling incredibly annoyed with himself, Stiles mutters, “Screw it,” and starts walking again.

 

What the hell is Derek doing here? Didn’t he say that he and Laura live in New York? What’s he doing back? Ugh. It doesn’t matter. He’s not going to let Derek Hale spoil a rare day off for him. Not at all. So what if Derek’s said something that’s already making his paranoia gnaw at his common sense. _He could be lying to save his own ass_ , Stiles tells himself, forcing his feet to move at a brisk pace. But wondering about what reason Derek would have to lie makes Stiles slow down, frowning deeply at the concrete.

 

He doesn’t want to, but Stiles can’t stop himself from considering the possibility that maybe... _maybe_...Derek’s telling the truth. Maybe he did write a note and left it for him where he said he had.

 

 _If he had, then I’d have seen it_ , Stiles argues with himself, frowning hard when he tries to remember the morning after. He remembers waking up, wondering where Derek went, realizing he’s five minutes away from being hellishly late, taking the fastest shower ever before getting Meg up and ready and out the door. That whole morning is a bit of a blur because of how he’d had to hurry. So maybe...what if he’d missed the note? Or maybe Meg had seen it and put it some place?

 

With a loud, annoyed groan, Stiles changes directions and starts jogging toward home.

 

\----

 

The minute Laura had casually informed him that they were going to be moving back to Beacon Hills (and expanding their pack) Derek had started dreading their return. How could he go back there? The radio silence from Stiles’ side said it all: Stiles didn’t want him in his life. And now Derek was going to be in it, anyway.

 

For weeks, Derek had not only cursed his shitty memory for forgetting the man’s phone number and address, but also himself for messing things up. He’s gone over the events of that night over and over again, guiltily regretting his decision to leave Stiles the way he had. Derek’s tried to call his old cell phone too but no one ever picks up. It keeps going to voicemail until he gets the message that the number has been disconnected.

 

He’s firmly ignored Laura’s attempts to drag him into interior decorating decisions. Like he cared what color the damned walls of their new home were going to be. Derek was too preoccupied imagining how hellish it was going to be living in the same town as his ex...ex...something.

 

He tries to help Laura with the move but there’s not a lot of things to be done. She’s already contacted the movers, talked with Deaton, arranged for some supernatural contractors to start pulling the old house down, and finalized the new house design. The only left to do, is to pack their own things, get to Beacon Hills, and start vetting people for their pack.

 

Because he’d spent a few weeks in town, Laura grills him for all her worth. Derek sadly doesn’t have much to share, which ticks his sister off if the throbbing vein on her forehead is anything to go by. “I guess I’ll just ask Deaton for his help.” Laura sighs, shoving some of the takeout food in Derek’s direction. “Maybe I can convince him to loan me that assitant of his. We’re gonna need someone who has _some_ background in medicine.”

 

Derek grunts and tunes Laura out, wondering instead what he’s going to do if and when he runs into Stiles. All meetings that Derek imagined were soaked in emo-misery he’d been simmering in for months. Either way, Derek had imagined a lot more angst involved. Some shouting, a lot more hiding and skulking around and generally wanting to avoid Stiles because Stiles _clearly_ didn’t want anything to do with him, right?

 

The point is, he thought he’d be a lot more sad.

 

Which is why no one’s more surprised than Derek when he winds up storming into the book shop after he’d caught sight of Stiles in the shop. One minute Derek’s walking down the sidewalk, reacquainting himself with the town again, and the next he’s standing in front of Stiles feeling angrier than he has in an age. And _hurt_.

 

It takes everything Derek has in him to keep his voice steady and not growl at the shocked looking man before him. He feels shaken down to the core when Stiles tells the puzzled store clerk to call the cops. It stings like a splinter stuck underneath his fingernail, throbbing hotly. And then when Stiles’ raises his head, wordlessly asking Derek, ‘What of it?’ Derek manages to grasp his anger again.

 

The _only_ thing that keeps him from doing something he might regret is Stiles’ sarcastic reply to the store clerk. Derek snarls, “I left you a note explaining what’d happened.”

 

Stiles’ dismissal makes him snap and push the man against the nearest bookshelf. It rattles but holds, the low thud of Stiles’ back hitting the wood makes the store clerk let out a startled noise.

“I _did_. I left you a note next to the bowl in the hall. I told you where you could contact me and you never did. And I waited _months_ for you to call me,” Derek explains, unable to stop his voice from deepening or his eyes from flashing.

 

He wishes Stiles was a werewolf, then he’d know that Derek is telling the truth. But even more desperately Derek wishes for Stiles to trust him the way he did before and to believe him.

 

While Derek pours all his earnestness behind his words, it winds up being overshadowed by his anger, which causes Stiles to snarl back at him. Derek cringes internally when Stiles reminds him of his own failure. Derek knows he could have looked Stiles up on his own and contacted him but...

 

He doesn’t want to admit how scared he’d been of rejection.

 

So instead he opts for exasperation, because _why_ isn’t Stiles believing him? Why is he acting like he never got the note in the first place? There’s no way he could have missed it!  ‘ _Unless..._ ’ Derek thinks to himself as he walks out of the store, turning away from the bitter, burnt coffee bean scent of Stiles’ anger, ‘ _Unless he did_.’

 

His feet stick to the concrete, paranoia taking over as he wonders maybe he made a mistake. Maybe he should have stuck that note to the fridge. Or put it on the coffee table. Anywhere but on that side table by the front door. After all, how many times has Derek walked out of home without paying attention?

 

Derek finds himself in the park, sitting down heavily on the nearest bench before burying his head in his hands. A few joggers pass by him. Derek listens to the sound of their feet hitting the jogging track until he can’t follow them anymore. There’s a dog barking somewhere in the distance. Squirrels chittering nearby.

 

What should he do? Should he go back home and help Laura get their new home set up? There’s still a lot of boxes left to be unpacked. Furniture that needs assembling. Not to mention there's the list of people Deaton thinks could be solid pack additions. They still need to look into those people’s history and see if they’d be good additions. Laura had asked him if he recognized any of the names but besides Isaac and the Sheriff, Derek hadn’t known anyone.

 

And he doesn’t feel like going back home.

 

Plus, he wasn’t sure if Laura had cooled down yet or not. There was a good chance she was still fuming that he’d put away all the kitchen stuff in the ‘wrong places’. Which didn’t even make sense given how they’re moving in and nothing _has_ a place yet.

 

Derek sighs and wonders if he should continue with his walk around town? Pretending like nothing happened. No. He can’t do that either. He feels far too unsettled. Which means, Derek sighs harder, he should follow that tiny voice in his head telling him to go find Stiles and apologize for his outburst. And then make an attempt at a civilized conversation because, after all, weren’t they both adults?

 

With a heavy sigh, Derek runs his hands through his hair before looking up. It’s a beautiful day with the perfect amount of sun and a light, cool breeze. The kind of day you enjoy with someone. The same way that couple was doing on the other side of the jogging track. Actually, they look kind of familiar...

 

It takes a minute but it clicks. It’s two of the people from Deaton’s list.

 

Great. Mystery solved. Distraction over.

 

Derek leans back with a heavy sigh.

 

He doesn’t think he can handle this kind of uncertainty and anger being directed at him every day. He can’t live in Beacon Hills if every meeting with Stiles is going to be an argument ending in them walking away from each other. Derek’s not sure if he can bear that. Plus, Derek wants to hear the truth from Stiles’ own mouth. Ask him if he actually hadn’t seen the note or if he hadn’t wanted to speak to Derek again. Derek scowls, remembering how the fast pace of Stiles’ heart had prevented him from pinpointing any lies.

 

With a muttered curse, Derek pushes himself up to his feet and begins the long trek to Stiles’ house. The closer he gets to the house, the heavier his feet feel. Derek runs several scenarios through his mind, practicing for all the different conversations that might happen. But no matter what happens this time, Derek’s going to keep his cool.

 

His throat dries up as he walks up the driveway, hands clenching into fists by his side before relaxing. Swallowing hard, Derek raises his hand and knocks hesitantly on the door. He holds his breath, tilting his head slightly to listen inside the house. There’s a loud bang and a string of curses. At least he knows Stiles is at home.

 

Derek waits for the sound of footsteps approaching the door, but there’s a long stretch of silence punctuated with a gentle, “Shit.”

 

So he raises his hand and knocks again, harder and sharper this time.

 

A pause and a chair drags against the floor. Stiles shouts, “Coming!”

 

There’s a split second where Derek considers running away (he’s sure he can vault up the roof and hide there until Stiles goes away), but he shakes it off. He takes a deep breath and braces himself when the footsteps come to a stop on the other side of the door.

 

Stiles throws the door open and blinks owlishly at him, mouth falling open in surprise.

 

“I wanted to apologize for-”

 

“I found the note!”

 

It’s Derek’s turn to blink in surprise, “What?”

 

Stiles holds up a familiar piece of paper. Derek’s eyes flit over his handwriting before moving back to look at Stiles, who immediately explains, “I found it behind the table. I don’t know how but it’d slipped off the table and got stuck between it and the wall so I never saw it. Not until I went looking for it.”

 

The hand holding the note falls down, note crinkling as Stiles curls his fingers in. “I’m...” Stiles begins, shaking his head slightly before looking at Derek with a stricken expression, “I’m so sorry. I kept thinking that you’d just left and didn’t want to...And then at the store I thought you were lying and making up excuses and I got so mad that I--”

 

Shaking his head, Derek interrupts, “I’m sorry, too. I should have tried to reach out to you when I didn’t hear back from you.” And because they’re being honest, Derek exhales and looks away because he doesn’t feel strong enough to look at Stiles while admitting this, “I was scared you saw the note and didn’t want to contact me. I thought I’d pissed you off by leaving the way I did.”

 

Something brushes against his forearm. Derek glances down, watches Stiles’ fingers twitch before wrapping gently around his wrist. He looks up and sees a wry grin spreading over the other man’s face. “So... we both messed up?” Stiles asks.

 

With a small smile of his own, Derek nods and takes hold of Stiles’ wrist in return, anchoring himself in place in this moment. “And we’re both sorry.”

 

With a bark of relieved laughter, Stiles agrees, “ _So_ sorry.”

 

Like the fools they are, they stand there staring at each other for several long minutes before they look away. Derek looks at their hands and can’t help but smile harder.

 

“I’d, uh, ask you to come in, but it’s a bit of a mess.” Stiles says.

 

Derek quirks an eyebrow at him before glancing over his shoulder. Stiles immediately moves to close the door, but he’s too late. There’s no hiding the fact that the Stilinski residence looks like a hurricane went through it.

 

“That’s more than a ‘bit of a mess,” Derek points out. “What the hell happened?”

 

There’s a brief pause where Stiles is clearly debating on what to say when Derek answers his own question. A grin slowly spreads across his face. “Did you do that looking for my note?”

 

“What? _No_!” Stiles denies immediately and loudly, cheeks turning pink, “Okay, maybe there’s a slight possibility that you’re right. But I had to make sure that you weren’t lying. And that I hadn’t...” He waves a hand between them before continuing in a softer voice, “Messed things up between us.”

 

With a warm smile and squeeze to Stiles’ wrist, Derek replies, in the same soft voice, “We did mess up, but we can fix that. If that’s what you want.”

 

There isn’t even a sliver of doubt left in him when Stiles beams up at him, “I want that. I _totally_ want that.”

 

Buoyed by his happiness, Derek gives in and leans forward to press his lips against Stiles. It feels like the sweetest homecoming when Stiles’ hands wrap around his shoulders and pull him into the house.

 

\----

 

To paraphrase the White Rabbit from Alice in Wonderland, Stiles is late. So very, very late.

 

“I think that’s everything.” Stiles sweeps a critical look over the bags piled in the car. He’s got the house warming gift, Derek’s charger (that he’d forgotten to grab the last time he’d spent the night), the hot dog buns that Laura had told him to bring, and the potato salad he said he’d bring.

 

He looks down at Meg who is fussing with her hair band, “Sure you don’t want to take another toy with you? Besides your Brenda and Superman?”

 

Meg tries to heft the two toys higher up her chest but fails. She scowls at the fallen Superman action figure before bending down to pick it up. “No. I wanna show Auntie Laura and Uncle Boyd these two. Can we go now?”

 

Stiles grins at her pout before opening the back door for her. He’s strapping her into her seat when she flails her arms at him, colored bracelets smacking him in the face. “Don’t forget to put the seatbelt on Brenda and Superman!”

 

“I would _never_!” Stiles declares, carefully helping Brenda and Superman sit down in their seat before strapping them in. “Good? Okay. Lets roll.”

 

As he’s backing out of the driveway, Stiles has one hand curled against the Peace Lily pot he’s got riding shotgun. Is it cliché to get a houseplant for someone’s “I-know-it’s-four-months-late-but-I-was-busy!” house warming party? Stiles has been rethinking his decision ever since he’d brought the plant home, but that had only been yesterday because he’d forgotten to get a present. He hopes that no one else is gonna bring a plant to the party. And if someone else does, well... Stiles just hopes it’s not a Peace Lily. But it’s not just the fact that it’s _the most_ cliched housewarming gift _ever_. It’s the fact that Stiles isn’t confident that the poor plant is not going to live longer than a week.

 

Sure it’s going to be in a house with at least five people around on a good day, but Stiles can’t imagine any of them caring about the plant. They’ll either forget about its existence and the poor thing’ll dry up. ‘ _Or,_ ’ Stiles thinks wryly, _‘they’re gonna overwater it and kill it like that.’_ All he’s saying is, there’s a high chance of this plant dying pretty soon.

 

He should have listened to Scott and Allison and gotten that three piece baking dishes set. At least _that_ would have been a useful gift. Glancing into the rearview mirror to check on Meg, Stiles wonders what the others will bring. He knows Scott had gotten a fancy gift basket of some kind. Isaac had pooled his money in with Boyd and Erica to buy a blender (Laura’s on a health kick that involves a lot of smoothies). Melissa had bought a small, but beautiful crystal lotus flower decoration piece. And his dad, last Stiles had checked, had been debating between buying a set of fancy soaps or a tool kit.

 

And then there was Meg’s gift too. A pair of peacocks made out of paper plates, sequins, and glitter. Knowing Derek, they were probably going to be put on the mantelpiece in the living room.

 

“Dad, did you get my peacocks?” Meg asks suddenly, eyes wide out of fear that maybe Stiles had forgotten to grab the brightly colored paper peacocks.

 

“They’re right here.” Stiles plucks the pink and purple one up and holds it up for Meg to see.

 

In the rearview mirror, he can see Meg biting her lip worriedly. “Do you think they’ll like it?”

 

“Of course they will!” Stiles declares. “Derek and Aunty Laura love the stuff you make! Like those farm animals you made out of paper cups. Derek hasn’t taken the cow and the pig off the shelf since you give him those.”

 

A proud, bashful smile flits over Meg’s face. Stiles smiles as well, heart swelling as he recalls the earnest expression with which Derek had placed both paper animals next to the few framed photographs he had of his family. And then there’s Laura, who keeps her ‘alpha rock’ in her room (alpha rock being the giant pebble Meg had tried to paint into a wolf, complete with a fuzzy ‘tail’ attached at one end) and refuses to let anyone touch it.

 

“Do you think they’ll like the flower?” he asks in return. No, he’s not seeking validation for his choice from a five year old. Shut up.

 

“It’s pretty.”

 

Stiles fights not to sigh at that. Sure it’s _pretty_ but...oh never mind. He’ll just ask Derek to ask Laura and the others how the flower is doing. Or maybe make some kind of water scheduling and stick it to the fridge next to the chore chart. _Or_ he could just include that _into_ the chore chart.

 

As he drives through a green light, Stiles takes the time to reflect over the past nine months.

 

It’s been, for lack of a better word, hectic.  More so than usual because now there’s regular life and then there’s pack life. Because he knows about werewolves, and had said, “Yeah I guess,” when Laura had sternly asked him if he was a good judge of character, Stiles had gotten roped into helping the alpha pick her new betas. His first suggestion had been Scott while Laura had wanted to bring his dad into the loop.

 

After a resounding argument where they both agreed to the other’s choice, they’d had dinner and Laura declared, “He’s a good one Derek. Better keep him before someone else steals him away.”

 

So, there’s that. He’s had to sit with Laura and argue that he can’t possibly judge what kind of a person someone is just by looking at their picture. Then he’d had to talk her out of flat out stalking the people she’s interested in. She in turn thunked him on the head when he proposed breaking into the police database to gather information. _And then_ he’d had to approach Isaac and three other people on her behalf, politely asking them over to dinner with the Hales regarding a “unique business opportunity.”

 

How it works each time is beyond him because he’d argued fiercely with Derek about it. Telling someone that werewolves are real and that Laura is interested in them joining her pack is no where near a “unique business opportunity.”  But now he’s resigned to seeing Derek’s smug little smile whenever anyone brings it up. “Never underestimate the power of money,” Derek’s taken to saying.

 

Stiles has taken to trying to trip Derek whenever he can. Derek always steps over his leg and tells him to try harder. And speaking of things that tripped him up, is the fact that Allison apparently comes from some bad-ass line of hunters?

 

“I’m mostly retired now,” she shrugs, rubbing sunscreen on Jordan’s arms as he wriggles impatiently, “I just keep an eye on things here. The Argent name still carries a lot of weight. My dad’s the one who does most of the heavy lifting, travelling around making sure no ones stepping out of line. Me, I’m just a mom, housewife, and a marketing manager.”

 

He’s had to help bring new people into the fold, which includes Allison. Stiles had to play the neutral party for _several_ dinners in that case before the Hales grudgingly agreed to hammer out a peace treaty with Allison. And then there were the other “courting” dinners for Isaac Lahey, Liam Dunbar, Erica Reyes, and Vernon Boyd. Stiles sighs remembering all the reassurances he’d had to give them that it was a simple dinner where Laura Hale wanted to talk to them about something.

 

The dinner part had been pretty fun though. He’d sat back and watched their reactions when Laura had explained the werewolf thing to them. And by explained Stiles means she bluntly told them she was a werewolf, wanted the person in her pack, and flashed her fangs at them.

 

Isaac had laughed at him before falling out of his chair when Laura had flashed her shifted face at him. Erica had screamed and thrown her plate at Derek’s head. His dad had sighed and asked Stiles to pull the good whiskey out. Liam had jumped out of his chair and into Stiles’ lap. Boyd had simply raised his eyebrows, blinking in wide-eyed surprise at Laura’s snarling face.

 

And then there’s Lydia--the only Banshee in town. Laura’s been courting her personally, trying to sweet talk the redhead into joining the pack. But Lydia’s been one cool customer. Stiles suspects that Laura might have a more personal interest in Lydia, but he hasn’t brought that up yet. He still needs more evidence before making a definite conclusion. Although, he doesn’t understand why Lydia is putting up such a fight.

 

It’s not every day you find out there’s more to the world than what you know. That there’s a whole new side to things that most of the world doesn’t know about. He had thought that would appeal to the woman’s academic side but...

 

His phone rings, vibrating along the dashboard as Derek’s name and picture flashes on the screen. Stiles grabs it and turns the speaker on. “I know I’m late, but I’m ten minutes away and you’re on speaker.”

 

Derek sighs from the other end, making Meg giggle. God knows why she finds an exasperated Derek so amusing. Might be his eyebrows?

 

“Ten minutes?” he asks.

 

“More like eight,” Stiles corrects himself.

 

Stiles just _knows_ that Derek is rolling his eyes at him. “I’ll tell Laura you ran into traffic.”

 

“You’re a god amongst men.”

 

“Yeah yeah,” Derek grumbles good naturedly. “See you soon, Meg.”

 

“See you soon!” She chirps back.

 

It takes nine minutes for them to reach the newly completed Hale house, but Stiles figures it’s all good. After all, what’s another nine minutes when you’re already thirty minutes late. But clearly that’s not what Lydia thinks because she’s standing on the porch watching him tumble out of his car.

 

“I know! I know!” He moves to get Meg out while speaking, “We got held up in-”

 

“I don’t want to know why you were late,” Lydia cuts him off. “Just tell me you bought the buns.”

 

Stiles hefts Meg out of her seat and onto the ground, following her as she jogs around to the other side to get her toys. While she opens the backdoor, Stiles opens the front and takes the large bag out with a flourish.

 

“Hot dog buns, as requested.” He jogs over to her and lets her take the bag out of his hand. Inside, the party is clearly in full swing. Stiles can hear Scott laughing at something while Laura is shouting at someone. Which reminds him. He gives Lydia a sly grin, “Laura still trying to woo you into joining the pack?”

 

Lydia smirks, eyes glimmering in amusement. “First thing she showed me after I came was the new library.”

 

Stiles feels his jaw drop open. He’s been _begging_ Laura to give him access to the Hale family library, but she’s been shooting him down for _months_.

 

“I said no.”

 

A strangled, envious noise falls out of his mouth, making Meg pause and look at him with great concern. “You okay, Daddy?”

 

“‘m fine. Just...fine.” He wheezes, waving a hand at Meg to go inside. From the inside Stiles can make out Erica asking if he just heard Meg and Isaac replying back in the affirmative. It’s like they’ve gotten twice as loud after becoming werewolves, go figure why. “I can’t believe you said no! I’ve been dying to read those book.!”

 

Lydia snorts, “I’m sure if you ask Derek nicely enough he’ll let you read them.”

 

“If I ask him nicely enough I could get him to read to me,” Stiles corrects her, grinning at the little snort Lydia lets out. He’s about to say something else when Meg lets out a loud scream from somewhere inside.

 

His body moves before he knows it, rushing past Lydia and into the house asking, “What happened?” Stiles asks as he crashes into a doorway, wild eyes flying around the room.

 

Turns out, he doesn’t have to ask because Meg’s standing in front of kneeling Erica, visibly shaking as she clutches a Stitch plushie to her chest. A confused blink later and she’s thrown herself at the blonde, shouting, “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

 

Stiles leans against the doorway in mixture of relief and annoyance. He feels a familiar hand drop against his shoulder, followed by a brief, soft kiss to his cheek. “She got another toy,” Stiles grumble-whines at Derek.

 

Derek’s hand slides down his back and around his waist, pulling him up against the other man. “Be grateful it wasn’t more than one. I had to talk her out of getting something bigger.”

 

Pointing at the toy that’s half Meg’s size, Stiles asks, a tad desperately, “What she was gonna get that was bigger than _that_?”

 

Derek shakes his head, a tiny smile on his lips, “You don’t wanna know.”

 

Moaning, Stiles wraps his arm around Derek. “I know I said I didn’t want to get in between Erica, Lydia, and Laura’s ‘best aunt’ competition, but this is getting out of control. Meg’s gonna wind up spoiled rotten _and_ she’s won’t have anywhere to put all her stuff. Her old toys chest is already so full it won't even close anymore.”

 

And like she’s a ninja or something, Lydia pops up behind him asking, “Meg needs another toy chest? I’ve got it covered.”

 

There’s a manic glint in her eyes that sends a shot of fear run through him. “No wait,” Stiles begins, reaching out to grab Lydia and convince her that _no_ , Meg doesn’t need that.

 

But speak of the devil, Meg races up to him holding her new plush toy up for Stiles to see. “Daddy! Look what Aunty Erica got me! Isn’t it neat?”

 

Stiles looks down at his daughter, takes in her delighted smile and sparkling eyes before glancing up at Erica. Who is looking at Meg with the same fond look that Derek directs her way. The same look everyone tends to have when they’re dealing with the girl. There’s no denying the fact that everyone loves Meg and they’re all going to spoil her rotten out of affection.

 

Erica, Lydia, and Laura are going to keep getting gifts for Meg. Boyd’s going to keep on pretending like he didn’t learn how to make octopus out of sausages just to make Meg happy. Isaac’s going to keep coming over once a month with a new Disney DVD in hand, sitting on the floor next to the girl and singing along to the songs with her. And Liam’s probably never going to stop beaming about how he’s Meg’s ‘favorite horsey ride’.

 

Crouching down, Stiles pretends to thoroughly examine the plushie before nodding, “The neatest!”

Meg’s smile turns into a grin before she’s trotting off to show the others her new toy.

 

She’s very seriously explaining to Boyd why Stitch is her current favorite when Laura shows up, wiping her hands against her thighs. “What’d I miss?”

 

“Erica got Meg a Stitch plushie,” Derek answers.

 

Laura stares at the toy with narrowed eyes, like it’s mortally offended her. She turns the look towards her beta, eyes narrowing further when Erica shoots her a smug grin. There’s a low growl building Laura’s chest that makes Stiles grab her arm, “No growling at your beta’s.”

 

“Not even if she stole my idea?”

 

While Stiles raises his eyebrows, Derek frowns and asks, “When’d you want to get her a Stitch?”

 

The mulish look cracks for a split second when Laura admits, “Well...I _thought_ about it.”

 

“Last I checked,” Stiles says dryly, “telepathy wasn’t part of the werewolf package. So I doubt she stole your idea.” He freezes before hurriedly asking Derek, “It’s not right? Bitten werewolves or werewolves in general can’t...?”

 

Derek snorts, “Of course we can’t.”

 

“Like I’d know.” Stiles elbows his boyfriend in the stomach. “Laura won’t let me read your books so I have to research on my own.”

 

“One of these days, someone at work is going to catch you reading that shit and ask you what you’re doing, you know,” Laura points out, ignoring the second half of his sentence just like she ignores Stiles every time he brings this topic up.

 

“You can’t stop me from getting my hands on those books now, Laura. Lydia told me you’ve got the library all set up.”

 

Laura shoots him an evil grin, “She didn’t mention that I keep the library locked?”

 

After a few seconds of shocked mouth flapping, Stiles hisses, “You’re _evil_.”

 

Laura cackles all the way down the hallway and into the backyard. Derek’s rubbing his lower back, sliding closer to him as Liam gives Meg a piggyback ride outside. “You know she’s only like this because she knows it gets a rise out of you,” Derek says.

 

“I know. But _books_ ,” Stiles whines, “ _Knowledge_!”

 

Snorting, Derek gives Stiles’ ass a quick pat. “I’ll get you a copy of the key. That work for you, Evie Carahan?”

 

“Thanks Rick,” he drawls back, moving toward the front door. “I’ll just be a minute. I need to grab some stuff from the car.”

 

It takes him more like five minutes, but no ones around to scold him for his poor time management. Stiles puts the bag with Meg’s gift on the coffee table and the flower pot on a side table. After that, he goes into the kitchen to add ‘water the Peace Lily’ into the chore chart. Another few minutes later, and Stiles is done.

 

He takes another minute to glance over the fridge. A collection of magnets is holding up a variety of papers. The few college related notes Stiles assumes are Liam’s. There’s a newsletter about the Sheriff’s department’s Annual Bachelor Auction Fundraiser, Erica’s loopy writing sternly reminding Boyd and Isaac to sign up before the cut-off date. There’s a grocery list jotted down in Isaac’s neat writing, with a few additions from Boyd. A work scheduling detailing what time everyone would be at work. A note from Derek reminding everyone that the next full moon is on a Wednesday.

 

From the look of things, the pack seems to be getting along fine. Derek had been right. All they’d needed was some time to get to know each other (and a few hard shakes from Laura to stop them from bickering like children). He makes a mental note to ask Liam how he’s been holding up. Last he remembers, Laura had mentioned that he’d been having some trouble with his anchor.

 

She hadn’t seem too worried though, saying it often took bitten werewolves a couple of months to get the hang of things. “Isaac was the exception,” Stiles recalls her telling Liam, “It took Erica three months. Four for Boyd. And it’s only your second moon. Don’t push yourself too hard, kid.”

 

Stiles is leaning in to read a post-it note when the back door creaks open. Derek stands in the doorway, holding the screen door open as he nods outside where the others are. “You coming?”

 

He nods. Derek takes a step back and lets Stiles pass through before letting go of the door. For a minute, Stiles stands there and takes in the sight before him.

 

His dad is manning the grill, talking with Boyd as they both expertly prepare an assortment of grilled food. Laura, Liam, Jordan and Isaac are engaged in some strange game of tag where the Meg is sitting on Liam’s shoulders and Jordan is piggy backing on Laura and are yelling encouragements to their “horseys.” Allison is sitting on the side, hand resting comfortably on top of her pregnant belly as she listens to Melissa speak. Lydia, Scott, and Erica stand behind them, lemonade in hand as they chat.

 

It’s a picture perfect Kodak moment.

 

Heart swelling with emotion, Stiles leans into Derek’s side. He slides his arm around Derek’s shoulder and murmurs, “I’m really glad you got hit by that truck.”

 

“What?” Derek frowns at him.

 

With a quiet huff, Stiles explains, “The truck? Remember? When you were running away, you got hit by that truck and then I took you to Isaac? If that’d never happened then we might have never met so...I’m glad you got hit by that truck.”

 

“You know how bad that sounds, right?”

 

Stiles laughs at Derek’s amused tone and gives the werewolf’s shoulder a good squeeze, “Yep. Come on, help me make sure my dad doesn’t sneak a steak for himself.”

 

As Stiles takes a step forward, his hand slides down Derek’s arm and grabs his hand. Another step and Derek’s turning his palm around so that he can link their fingers together. Derek squeezes his hand and Stiles beams at him, feeling inexplicably happy and content.

 

“Daddy’s here!” Meg shouts happily, tugging on Liam’s hair. “And Derek! Come play with us!”

 

Stiles grins, shooting Derek a questioning look, who is already shrugging and walking forward with Stiles in tow, “Sure. What’re we playing?”

 

To be completely honest, Stiles doesn’t listen to Meg as she explains the rules. He’s too caught up in the way Derek’s listening to her, nodding seriously as she pats Liam’s head before pointing at Laura while babbling away. How’d he get so lucky? Stiles still hasn’t been able to figure that one out.

 

“... so Daddy’s gonna be the dragon.”

 

Blinking, Stiles finds himself back in the moment and confusedly asking, “Wait! What’m I supposed to do?” as the others race away from him.

 

“I just said so Daddy!” Meg shouts his way.

 

Liam’s advice is far more helpful, “You need to tag one of us! It’s like regular tag.”

 

Oh. _That_ he can do.

 

With a playful growl, Stiles spreads his arms out and races after Liam and Meg, the latter squealing in delight before shouting at Liam to run faster. Distantly Stiles hears his dad laugh fondly while Scott laughs and cheers him on. Lydia tells Erica to take her heels off if she intends to join them and Melissa chimes in, “Whoever doesn’t get caught by the time dinner is done gets extra ice cream.”

 

All in all, it’s the best party Stiles has _ever_ been too.

 

_The End_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Drop a comment, drop a line, drop an ask over at [Tumblr!](http://missmeeya.tumblr.com/ask)


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